The Lost Age: Stormwalker's Chronicle
by Kartissa
Summary: Before the Age of Legends was a time of strife, lost even to the Aes Sedai of old...
1. Foreward

This story is set many years before the events in the Wheel of Time. Indeed, it pre-dates the Age of Legends. The idea came from a comment in the books that the Portal Stones were built before the Age of Legends, which made me wonder about the civilisation that might have constructed them. Since only the most powerful Channeller could use them, I wondered if that might be because the original source of their power was something completely different.

There are a number of stories I could write concerning the Lost Age, and I will probably do so in the future. In the meantime, I've included basic information on Psionics in the appendix for anyone who wishes to write their own Lost Age tale. The powers of the Age are based on the Psionics rules from the Advanced Dungeons and Dragons role-playing game, both second and third edition.

Most of the power divisions are basically common sense, although some powers can easily overlap Disciplines. For example, Flight can be Psychoportation (a travel power), Psychokinesis (picking yourself up with your mind) or Psychometabolism (growing wings or transforming into a bird). The specific choice depends entirely on the desired effect and the will of the author.

Enjoy the story, and please let me know if you decide to write a Lost Age tale.

* * *

_**It is with heavy heart that I now set pen to paper. This morning, news reached me of the death of my good friend Brigid DelKayne, better known as the hero Silverbolt. With her passing, I am now the only person living who recalls the time before The Storm. A time known at its height as the Age of the Talented.**_

_**The people who would create this new Age, wielding their One Power to produce marvels, look back to the Age of Technology for inspiration, the Age into which I was born. They point to wonders such as the mighty Lady Liberty who once stood at the entry to a great coastal city, welcoming all who would journey to the New World for a fresh start. They cite the Great Eye of London as a masterpiece of ingenuity and wonder at its true function, little realising it to be no more than mere entertainment. They speak reverently of The World of Dubai, a collection of artificial islands constructed in the image of all the lands of the Earth, unaware that its origin was purely commercial.**_

_**All but a few scholars believe this was the world that directly preceded The Storm. The ones who know differently believe the time of the Talented to be but a handful of years, and not the centuries that it was. Many things have been forgotten in the seventy years since the end of The Storm, not least of which being the very nature of The Storm itself. Indeed, many wise and learned people yet address me by my title, Stormwalker, although I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who recall how I earned it.**_

_**Though I have the Talent of Longevity, some might say Immortality, I am not deathless. The Storm was proof of that, as I will relate presently. One day, I may pass beyond the physical world into the Unseen, to join my friends and loved ones. This chronicle I write against that eventuality, that in years to come, some record of the Talented may yet survive.**_

_**This, then, is my story. The history of the Lost Age of the Talented.**_

_**{There were many stories during those five centuries. This volume concerns itself mainly with the beginning of the Age and the rise of the Talented, and the Storm that ended it and began this new Age of the Power. Further tales of the Lost Age can be found within the companion volumes.}**_


	2. The Fall and the Talented

**_The Fall_**

**_My tale begins with the death of Technology. It had been many years coming, with the world escaping destruction on many occasions before the end. Technology was ever a cruel master and a dangerous tool, one that anyone might use for good or ill. Our devices became complex and powerful faster than our wisdom to wield them._**

**_Cities grew vast and overcrowded, boasting millions of inhabitants, a number few can conceive these days. And that was normal. Even the smallest city housed tens of thousands, and the largest…, the largest city of the Earth covered a vast expanse of land and sported a population of hundreds of millions. Even then, it was an almost inconceivable figure._**

**_Yet we had weapons that could destroy as many in the blink of an eye. Those who have heard tales of spears of fire that could be thrown halfway round the world dismiss them as fairy-tales, yet they are as true as the Source, near enough. A single such spear hurled into the largest city would devastate it, killing half of its population instantly, and the remainder would die slowly from poison and sickness. The Great Powers of the world had considerably more than a single missile each. They had had thousands._**

**_Yet it was not these Great Powers that brought about the end. Indeed, they had put aside their enmity and were dismantling their weapons of mass destruction. They had long realised that if either used just one of their missiles, the other would retaliate, and in the end, there would be no winner. No, the architects of the Fall were not the Great Powers, nor one of the Lesser. Not even a nation, but a group of idealists with their own view of the Ultimate Truth._**

**_Before the discovery of the True Source, people were divided in their opinion of the nature of the world and of mankind. Many religions abounded, each espousing their own Truth of the origin of everything, creating many conflicts among their followers. Many great wars were fought over the interpretation of the Creator's Will. In some cases, the difference amounted to which language one used to pray to the Creator, which is hardly a valid reason for one man to kill another. Indeed, many religions taught that it was wrong for one person to take the life of another, a commandment their followers gleefully disobeyed where the victims did not subscribe to their particular faith._**

**_It was followers like this that caused the Fall. Fanatic devotees of the youngest of faiths who saw religious persecution in the political machinations of the Great Powers. Not entirely undeserved, for there were many actions and events which had their root in older faiths. Yet the fanatics ignored the politics behind those actions. Ignored, or never learned. In their ignorance, they hated, and in their hatred, they killed._**

**_Though ignorant of causes, they knew how to make weapons. Projectile weapons that could shoot small missiles with force to kill at several hundred paces. Bombs that could send sharp metal shards at speeds fast enough to shred flesh from bone. And they could make the tips of the spears of fire, if not the spears themselves._**

**_It was one of these devices that started the Fall. A small bomb, by the standards of the time, but still powerful enough to devastate a city of millions. Which is exactly what they did. Freedom fighters, they called themselves. The Chosen of their god. They proclaimed loud and often that they would not harm innocents in their jihad, and many believed them. Few people realised that they counted as innocent only those who followed their own faith. Everyone else was guilty of heresy._**

**_They chose the city of New York as their target. The city where the Lady Liberty once welcomed those persecuted for their beliefs. It was not the first such attack that city had seen, but it was assuredly the most devastating. And the last. When the smoke cleared to reveal a vast crater amidst miles of rubble, it quickly became apparent that the city was finished. The land was scorched bare and contaminated, the people poisoned. The great copper statue in the harbour, the Lady Liberty, melted and boiled away by the heat of the blast._**

**_The fanatics claimed credit, boasting to the horrified world of their terrorism and claiming it to be only the start of their great jihad. The world responded in kind. The fanatics thought they knew persecution, but they were wrong. And it was not just the fanatics that were persecuted. Others of their faith were targeted also, people who were as horrified as everyone else at what had been done in the name of their god. Most didn't care. They were the same faith, so they were considered as guilty as the terrorists, no matter what they protested._**

**_Things escalated quickly. Persecution became conflict. Intolerance became killing. People who had been friends turned against one another. The war began in earnest with the loss of another city. A few survivors of New York, slowly dying and with nothing to live for, carried a bomb into the heart of the holiest city of those who had destroyed their home. With its destruction, those few who had stood apart from the conflict and tried to mediate were forced to act. In this, there was no middle ground. It was one side or the other._**

**_The war lasted less than a week. An eternity to those who survived, and all of us were changed as a result._**

**_The Talented_**

**_What caused the change in humanity was never discovered. Some claim mutation from the contaminants of the war. Others say it was spiritual, our minds touching the Creator in a desperate attempt to survive. Most chose to believe, as I did and still do now, that the cataclysm merely forced the survivors to tap into a long-dormant ability present in all humans. There was, after all, a wealth of historical evidence for the more common Talents that manifested after the Fall._**

**_Before the cataclysm, there had existed psychics who could perform miracles. People who could see distant places in this world they had never been to, yet could describe exactly as though looking through a window next to them. Healers who could touch an afflicted person and miraculously cure whatever ailed them. Despite extensive tests, the learned of the Technological Age were at a loss to explain such powers, or even to prove conclusively that they truly existed._**

**_The aftermath of the Fall provided proof enough and more. Other Talents emerged, that had no basis in recent history. Travelling from one place to another in an instant. Changing one's appearance or shape at will. Manipulation of matter and energy by thought alone. Gifts remembered only in stories and legends revealed themselves. Dozens of powers, and everybody had at least one. Many had several. Some people, including myself, were able to learn beyond their Natural Talents._**

**_I will say now that I have always believed the ability to learn new Talents is present in everyone. Only fear or disbelief prevented more than a handful of people in those early days from becoming full psionicists like myself. In hindsight, I count that lucky. The years following the Fall were harsh enough with all the Wild Talents competing for power or continuing their persecutions. In my case, I learned out of necessity, as my Talent of Longevity would not become apparent for many years to come. Most Talents revealed themselves within a few years of the Fall, as people tried to rebuild their shattered lives. These Talents typically provoked fear and hatred, widening the pre-Fall schisms between races and religions, although some saw them as a chance to start anew._**

**_From the start, I devoted many hours to the study of Talents, identifying and categorising them even before I had any of my own. Although the term Talent was widespread, among other names for them, I was generally credited with classifying the system of Psionics which divided Talents into seven Disciplines of related powers, although it is not actually my creation, deriving from a game I enjoyed playing before the Fall. Games became an unaffordable luxury during the Aftermath, even for me. Nevertheless, I recalled enough of the game to categorise the Talents I studied._**

**_The results of my decades of study can be found in my published work Theory of Psionics and the Seven Disciplines. For those who have no wish to wade through several volumes of philosophy and case-studies, a brief description of Psionics and its Disciplines can be found in the appendix of this volume._**


	3. Civilization, Stones and Storm

**_The Rebirth of Civilisation_**

**_Over a period of several years, factions rose and fell across the world. Towns grew up and flourished for months or years at a time before being decimated or starved out by rivals. Finally one group rose to power, putting an end to the battles wracking the island once known as Britain. That group was called Camelot, and our leader was Arthur Ellison, although his surname was quickly forgotten in favour of his call sign. His Talent was Animal Affinity, the ability to assume aspects and attributes of a particular animal at will. Arthur's Affinity was for a goshawk, and he frequently assumed wings to fly and survey the battlefield. For this reason, people called him Hawkwing._**

**_Other members of Camelot included Logan Matthews, who could create a spear of energy to wield in combat, and myself, the first true psionicist, among others. Our group was named for a legendary kingdom and our call signs derived from that legend. Logan was the Lance Lord, and I was known as Merlin, despite my protests. Arthur's genius lay not in being a great fighter or general, but in inspiring people to listen to him and persuading them to follow without any Talent for coercion. He also knew the Talents and limitations of all the people working for him, and in this he had my assistance._**

**_As Arthur and his 'knights' worked to recover order out of chaos, we came across other bastions of civilisation. Small villages distant enough from major targets to survive relatively intact. Isolated outposts, untouched by the war, but now havens for refugees. In a country once called Wales, many survived the conflict and its aftermath by hiding in abandoned coal mines._**

**_To all these people, we offered friendship and aid. Many were only too glad to accept and become part of our emerging nation. Especially when we helped them to learn about, and control, the new powers they had unlocked within themselves. Arthur worked hard to create a kingdom of Chivalry and Law, much like the legendary king whose name he shared._**

**_Not everybody welcomed us, though. Almost as many wanted nothing to do with Camelot, and we respected their wishes. A few were decidedly hostile, but Arthur's tactical genius and thorough understanding of his people's Talents brought us victory time and again with few casualties. It should be noted here that combat was always a last resort for Ellison. If he could discuss a grievance, he would, and there were times I watched him turn bitter enemies into sworn allies with just a few words. It was almost a Talent for him, although not a psionic one so far as I could tell._**

**_It took nearly twenty years to re-establish the kingdom of Britain. By that time, other nations were re-forming, their rulers emulating Hawkwing by studying and employing the Talents of their people. There were clashes, talks and treaties, but I paid them little heed, beginning at this time to concentrate more fully on the study of psionics. I was contacted from time to time to give advice or psionic assistance, but for the most part I had almost no contact with the world in general._**

**_My isolation pains me now, since almost all records of Hawkwing's lifetime have been lost, and I can supply little information. My main contribution during that period was my explanation of psionic Talents, and the training of several apprentices who came to me for instruction. To these individuals, I taught what I could, which was little more than opening the door for them to learn for themselves safely. With the struggle for survival less pressing, people had more time to focus on their powers, which meant that full psionicists like myself started to become more common._**

**_Arthur's death hit me hard. Not only had he been a good friend, but he had died of nothing more sinister than old age, while I looked and felt little different to the day the two of us had created Camelot. And I had been a full twelve years older than him. Turning my research on myself, I discovered the Talent of Longevity which had hitherto remained unknown. Considering the implications of this, I decided it was time I paid more attention to the affairs of the rest of the world._**

**_The general situation was much as it had been long before the war that had awakened everybody's powers. Numerous nations had arisen, basing their strength on psionic Talents, although conflicts were rare. Leaders kept the destructive capabilities of their people closely guarded secrets from their neighbours. Espionage and diplomacy were the winning strategies in this new world._**

**_Full psionicists were considered a valuable resource. Not only were our abilities stronger and more versatile than Natural Talents, but our mental discipline gave us naturally closed minds, which could not be read or probed without a telepathic conflict, unless we allowed the contact. All nations employed at least one psionicist advisor, and a few were actually ruled by psionicists._**

**_Not every psionicist worked for the nations. Many kept themselves aside from the mundane interactions, devoting their time to research. By the time Hawkwing's grandson ascended the throne at Avalon, some 120 years after the Fall, the psionicist community had begun to form a worldwide organisation, called the Conclave. It was divided into seven Schools, one for each of the Disciplines as defined by my early research, although many members used their own terminology and definitions. Disputes among us, for I was also a member of the Conclave, were settled by a formalised duelling system, intended to be non-lethal, although accidents could happen._**

**_Within the Conclave, the research continued unabated. It became possible to empower object with psionic abilities, and many devices were created so that non-psionicists could employ Talents there were unable or unwilling to learn. Among these were the items we called Portal Stones._**

**_It had been theorised since before the Fall that there were parallel worlds alongside our own, and several researchers spent many years trying to prove their existence. The Dream Realm was found easily enough. Indeed it was integral to many metacreative and psychoportive powers. Entering this Unseen World was often one of the first powers learned by Nomads. But the dreamscape posed many questions. It was believed to be a reflection of reality, but many travellers reported seeing things that did not, indeed could not, exist in our world. The Portal Stones were constructed to answer these questions._**

**_They were a combined effort from all seven Schools. Shapers drew material from the Unseen World for Kineticists to fashion into low pillars. Seers granted the Stones with the ability to locate other worlds while Telepaths bestowed upon them the power to read the chosen destination from the traveller's mind. Egoists provided protection for the user in transit, and of course no travel power would work without the Nomads' input. For this mighty venture, Psions forged the Metaconcert that brought us all together and actually empowered the Stones. It was truly the greatest feat of the Age._**

**_The Stones were designed to seek out worlds, and adapt their construction as they did so. We also meant them to link to different Stones within our own world. As new Stones were empowered and new worlds located, symbols would appear on the Stones to represent the destinations. No two Stones connected to the same combination of worlds or Stones, making each one unique. The only features common to all were their immobility, granted by both Nomads and Egoists, and the seven coloured tiers at their base that represented the Schools of the Conclave._**

**_Study of the new worlds lasted most of the latter half of the Age. Many of them were close mirrors of our own, with slight differences. A king who died in bed surrounded by family in our world may have been killed in battle at a young age in another. Most were radically different, although these were somewhat faded and almost unreal. The greater the change from our world, the less substantial the other world. Time and space often ran differently in worlds like that. We found ice ages, desert worlds and ocean worlds. We also found the Storm, Sorcerer-king of a subjugated world._**

**_It shames me to admit that this tyrannical despot was an alternate version of myself. In his world, Arthur Hawkwing had either died young or had never existed. Without his friendship and guidance, my double used his psionics to seize power, and as the old saying goes, 'power corrupts.' Instead of sharing his research as I had done, he ruthlessly suppressed the emergent psionicists, and learned to drain psionic energy from others completely, to the point that the Wild Talents so prevalent in our world were becoming rare in his._**

**_Meetings with the few free peoples in his world indicated that he used this stolen energy to prolong his life. Whether his Longevity worked differently, or if he simply didn't know about it, I was never able to determine. There was little time for that line of research. As soon as he realised there was another world to explore, rich with psionic talent, he swiftly moved to conquer. Striking quickly, and without warning, he might have succeeded, but for one thing. A young girl with a strong Talent, living in the right place at the right time, who would grow up to be a legend._**


	4. Brigid

The hare poked its head out of the long grass and, finding none of the usual predators, emerged cautiously onto the dirt track that served the Connor's farm. It paid little heed to the girl kneeling some distance up the path. She had her arms outstretched to point at the hare as it turned away from her. Quickly she pulled her right arm back curling her fingers and angling her body as though drawing a bow, while continuing to point with her left. As her right hand came level with her shoulder, a glowing silver arrow flashed into existence parallel with her left arm. The hare's reaction was just too slow as Brigid loosed her psionic shaft to sink into its neck, killing it instantly, before vanishing.

Lowering her arms, she stood and walked over to the dead creature. The arrow had cauterised the wound, so there was no blood. Picking up the hare, Brigid returned up the path to the small sack that had been concealed behind her, and placed her prize on top of the other animals she had killed during the morning.

It was a reasonable haul, with a few rabbits, a couple of squirrels and of course, the hare. Her mother would be pleased, as much for Brigid's safe return as for the meat. Not that there was much to threaten the twelve year old, even in the nearby forest, but Mhairi Connor worried about her children. Much of the meat would end up in the stew pot before lunch, although the hare would have to wait for another day.

Halfway to the house, Brigid heard a rapid footsteps behind her, and a voice called out "Race you!" She immediately started running without bothering to see who it was. Liam did this every day and usually won, despite being five years younger and half Brigid's size. When he concentrated, his legs moved almost quicker than the eye could follow. That was his Talent, as Brigid's was the silver bolt. She wasn't surprised that he overtook her, only that he was actually running backwards. He was getting faster every day, and now he was just showing off.

She was tempted to loose a bolt at the ground just ahead of him, to put him in his place, but decided against it. Even if she could time it perfectly, which would be tricky with his speed, he would almost certainly drop the basket of fruit he had been sent out to pick. The main thing in Brigid's favour during these races was Liam's endurance, or lack thereof. He could only maintain his speed for about a minute before dropping back to his normal speed, when Brigid's longer legs could easily cut the distance between them, such that she typically arrived at the house at most a few seconds after her brother.

She realised it wouldn't be like that today when Liam winked at her, turned around and doubled his speed, rounding the last corner to the house within moments. It was still more than a hundred yards ahead of Brigid, with the house fifty yards beyond that. Liam would probably reach home before she got to the corner, but she still sped up as much as she could. Turning the corner, she almost fell over her brother, who had stopped and was staring open-mouthed to one side of the path. Coming to a standstill, Brigid followed his gaze, and froze in astonishment.

Visible through a gap in the trees lining the path was a circular area, cleared of the long grass that covered the rest of the field, containing something that hadn't been there when they passed this way just a few hours ago. A grey stone pillar, nearly fifteen feet tall and three wide, adorned with several raised symbols, resting on a base of seven coloured stone tiers. Something about it called to Brigid, as another symbol formed near the top of the pillar. She snapped out of her trance as Liam stepped toward the column with his hand outstretched. Instinctively, she grabbed his arm and pulled him back behind her.

"We don't know what it might do if we get too close," she said with concern. After a moment's thought, she handed him her game sack. "Take these to mum, then run and find father. He'll know what to do."

She barely noticed her brother run toward the house, absorbed as she was in her study of the strange artefact. She approached cautiously to the edge of the cleared area, noticing the white stone where there should have been mud. Walking around it, she saw that the symbols seemed to be placed in some kind of pattern, although there was far more space than symbol. Halfway up the pillar was a thin horizontal groove, all the way round it. There were more symbols above the line than below it, and she wondered if that was significant.

Reaching her starting point, she backed onto the path and sat down, facing the pillar. She waited patiently. It was a skill she'd picked up thanks to her regular hunting. Her hands twitched, wanting to loose a bolt into the pillar, but something told her it might not be a good idea. Before long, a falcon flew down and landed beside her, shifting into a tall red-haired man. Brigid stood and turned to her father.

"I didn't go nearer than the edge of the grass," she said. " I didn't let Liam get even that close before I sent him to find you."

"Good girl," replied Sean Connor, known to all in the district as Red. He patted his daughter absently on the shoulder as he turned to the pillar and studied the odd markings.

"I've not tried to shoot it, either. I can feel how powerful it is."

"You can feel it?" Red looked sharply down at Brigid, who nodded.

"It's like when I focus my arrow, only more…," she paused, trying to find an appropriate word.

"I understand," Red cut off her thoughts. "I feel it too, but then I have the Talent for it." He glanced back at the pillar to see a new symbol materialise near the base. "Looks like I'm going to have to call Master Darius about this." He took a small crystal from his pocket and closed his eyes in concentration.

Darius Sanderson was the Conclave representative for the district. Although a Nomad, specialising in long range travel and transportation, he also had a gift for Telepathy and Metapsionics. He had created the crystal, and many others like it, to allow Red and his neighbours to communicate with him. Most only contacted the haughty psionicist when they need his services, or more usually, those of his assistant.

The mental conversation lasted only a few seconds before Red opened his eyes, laid the crystal on the ground and stepped away, drawing Brigid with him. The crystal also served as a locater, allowing the Master Nomad to easily teleport to its exact location, even if he had never been there before. Darius and Wilson arrived within moments. As usual, he wore the gold-trimmed cerulean robes of his rank and school, while Wilson was dressed in the silver-trimmed green of a Journeyman Egoist, or Journeywoman, in this case. Unlike her superior, she wore hard-wearing work clothes, since her job as a healer often called for her to work in fields and forests, rain or shine. In such circumstances, robes were highly impractical. Both Conclave members looked at the pillar whose presence had summoned them here, Wilson with curiosity, while Darius merely looked irritated.

"Master, that's -" Wilson started, before Darius cut her off.

"I know what it is, girl," he stated arrogantly. "What I don't know is what it's doing here, and why I wasn't notified." Without another word, he turned away from the pillar and his eyes lost focus. Red knew from past experience that the Nomad was telepathically contacting the Conclave, so he addressed his questions to Wilson.

"You know what this is? Is it dangerous?"

The Egoist shook her head. "It's not dangerous in itself. It's called a Portal Stone. They were created nearly two hundred years ago to travel to other worlds, but you can also use them to go to another Stone in this world if you know its address. But there haven't been any new ones in our world for over fifty years." She glanced across to Darius before continuing. "He's probably worried they won't be needing him here any more."

"We'll still need him," Red asserted. "And you. Elias would be dead now if not for the two of you."

"Other worlds?" Brigid asked, more to herself than anyone else, but Wilson responded.

"Yes. You know about the Dream Realm?" Brigid nodded. "Well, it's not the only one. There are other worlds like that, and this one, only they're different in some way. Each symbol on the top half of the Stone links to one of those worlds."

"How are they different?" Brigid asked.

"Could be anything," the Egoist replied. "Nomads wearing green instead of blue. Me being Master instead of Darius. There could even be a world where you're the greatest archer who ever lived."

"That's _this _world," the girl said, somewhat indignantly, bringing a broad grin to Wilson's face.

"Oops, my mistake. Sorry." Looking back at Darius, she was a little surprised to see him facing the pillar. Without speaking, he began to walk slowly around the Stone, never taking his eyes off it.

"What –?" Red started to ask, but Darius interrupted him.

"My colleagues are using my eyes." The Nomad's irritation was obvious. "It seems there were no plans for a Stone in this district. Which begs the question, how did it get here?" Completing his circuit of the Stone, he walked up to it and placed his hand on a recessed section a third of the way up. A glowing symbol appeared in the air just above his hand, which Darius, and presumably his colleagues, studied intently.

"This Stone's address," Wilson answered Brigid's unspoken question. "That's what you use to travel here, but it's supposed to be blue." The symbol was the colour of dried blood.

"Interesting," Darius muttered absently, before nodding in response to some unheard comment. Stepping away from the Stone, he turned to Red. "The consensus is that this is a reflection of a Stone created in another world. We should keep it under supervision in case somebody comes through. If so, we'd definitely like to meet them."

"That won't be difficult, Red replied. "It's in full view of my house, and there's always somebody home. But I'll set a watch on it anyway."

"Good." Darius beckoned Wilson closer. "We must return to the manor house. The Magister himself wants to see this Stone, and we should be on hand to greet him." Placing a hand on the Journeywoman's shoulder, he closed his eyes. Seconds later, they both vanished.


	5. Guy's Journal: 27 Kay 487AF

_It shaped up to be an interesting morning. I finally learned how to throw my blades and then I was summoned to see my father._

_Before I forget, my name is Guy DelKayne, and I'm a Soulknife. Like everyone else, I have a Talent, but mine works differently to theirs. I can create and empower swords of psionic energy. I know what you're thinking - how is that different from Body Weaponry or Dimension Blade? Well for the first power, a person's arms transmute into weapons, and the second draws matter from the Dream Realm to form the blade. My swords are pure psionic energy, drawn from my mind and body. The other difference with my Talent is that I didn't learn about it until I turned twenty last year, while most people know about their powers since childhood. Others might have been worried about their lack of Talent, but my father didn't learn about his Talent until he was over eighty. Taryn Madoc. The Magister Eternal._

_The wording of his summons indicated a formal audience, Magister to Apprentice, so I didn't waste any time. When I entered the anteroom to his office, I was a little surprised to see Eric Draken pacing there. Three years my junior, Draken had still not shown any signs of Talent, and he was one of those who worried about it constantly. He'd come to the Conclave for help, hoping one of the Psions could determine what was wrong with him. They had been unable to help, so he had appealed directly to the most powerful, and his family was influential enough that my father couldn't easily refuse, although the Magister had as yet been unable to see Draken until now._

_Expecting the customary wait, I headed toward one of the benches along the wall, but the internal door opened almost immediately and my father called for us both to enter. Not the surprise is could have been. If Draken turned out to be a Soulknife like me, I would have to be the one to train him, for all that I still hadn't perfected my own Talent yet. I gestured for Draken to precede me, although here in the Conclave, his noble rank was worthless compared to even my small status as an apprentice. He nodded acknowledgement as he entered the office._

_My father's appearance always took me by surprise. For the most powerful man in the world, he looked deceptively unremarkable. A short, thin man with brown hair. Someone who didn't know him might place his age in the mid-twenties, until they looked into the grey eyes that had seen more than twenty times that. As usual, he wore black and purple rather than the colours of any particular psionic school. As Magister of the Conclave, he represented them all without bias or favour._

_He gestured us to sit as he picked up and read one of the many sheets of paper on his desk. Knowing him, this was merely for appearances. If it were relevant to the situation, he would already have reviewed it before calling us in, but Draken wouldn't know that, and a noble's son would expect to have to wait. After a minute, he set the paper down and looked across to Draken._

_"Well Master Draken, it seems I am your last hope to find a Talent, is that correct?" Draken nodded in response, with uncharacteristic silence, as my father continued. "There is something we can try, but it requires your free and absolute commitment."_

_"Whatever it takes," Draken replied immediately._

_"It's a dangerous process which may cause irreparable damage to your mind." My father was referring to the psychic surgery that had helped unlock my own Talent. He was currently the only Psion living skilled at the process._

_"I don't care," Draken replied quietly. "If I don't have a Talent, I'll be disowned." Unfortunately that attitude prevails among most of the noble families in the country. The stronger the Talent the higher standing a person has, and the Draken family was probably the most influential in Avalon. Most psionicists and country people cared little for that sort of thing._

_"Very well," my father said, standing up. "In that case, I need you to clear your mind and open it up to me." Draken closed his eyes, as my father walked round to stand behind him and placed his hands in the noble's temples. I shuddered a little, remembering my own experience. Even invited, it can be uncomfortable to have a telepath in your mind, although Draken was probably used to it. Knowing this could take some time, I was settling back into my seat when Draken's eyes opened suddenly. They were staring blankly at the wall ahead of him when he started to speak in a strange voice._

**"The Storm comes to shatter the land. Swordsman and Archer must unite as they have before and will again or all will perish. Talent must fade and Darkness fall, but the Phoenix and the Dragon shall bring new Light to the world."**

_As Draken's eyes closed once more, my father released his head and stepped back, looking at him thoughtfully. Draken seemed to realise something was up._

_"Well?" he asked hopefully. "Did it work? I don't feel any different."_

_"You don't recall what just happened?" my father asked. "What you said?"_

_"I don't remember anything," Draken replied. "I was trying to clear my mind, but the Flame wouldn't go away. Then you let go and stepped back." The Flame and the Void was a well-established method to clear the mind prior to employing a psionic Talent. Picture a flame in your mind and feed all your emotions into it – anger, hate, fear – until all that's left is the flame, and when that dies only Void remains. After a little practice, a person can assume the Void with a thought, almost skipping the Flame entirely. Nearly everybody with Talent used this method or a similar one to control their powers. It was no surprise that a scion of the Draken family would have been taught the technique, although I would have expected him to be better at it. Perhaps his problem was not lack of Talent, but merely lack of focus._

_"Interesting," my father returned to his seat and looked across at Draken. "I seem to have unlocked a mystery with you, Master Draken." He held up a hand to forestall Draken's question. "You have power, that much is certain. Exactly what it is and how to use it remain to be learned. If you would care to wait outside while I confer with my associate here..."_

_Although phrased as a request, Draken knew a command when he heard one, and obeyed it without question, a puzzled look on his face. As he closed the door behind him, a soft blue glow outlined it. A ward against clairvoyance or any other psionic intrusion. With a thoughtful look on his face, my father turned to me._

_"What do you think, Guy?"_

_"He's a Seer," I replied immediately. "Once again you've succeeded where everybody else failed."_

_"That would be true," he said, "if I'd actually done anything. I barely had time to establish Contact when he began foretelling the future."_

_"Well there's nothing unusual about that," I was a little troubled. "Considering his family, he's probably been Contacted a thousand times since he turned fifteen." Fifteen was the oldest anybody had unlocked their psionic Talent, present company excepted. It was also the accepted age among the nobility when a person became an adult._

_"So why did something like this never happen before?" That had been the question in my mind, and had I not known my father disliked it, I would have thought he was reading my mind. "There could be a number of reasons, but only one of them would fit the facts."_

_"That reason being?"_

_"Fate. The presence of predictive abilities would confirm that the future is already written. Since most Seers can only predict a short time ahead, it's most logical to assume the events foretold will happen relatively soon."_

_"So Draken's prediction didn't happen before because it wasn't meant to," I concluded._

_"Precisely," my father responded. "Why are most predictions always doom and gloom? Forget that. A more important question is where it actually came from."_

_"It wasn't his Talent?" I asked._

_"Oh it was his doing, certainly, but it wasn't psionic. I have wards and artefacts sensitive to psychic energy throughout this office, and they never registered anything. The power behind that Foretelling came from some other source." He took a blank sheet of paper and started writing. Reading upside-down was a skill I had picked up long ago, so I could easily see he was recording Draken's prediction._

_"What other source of power could there be?" [It was probably the most important question I ever asked, although I didn't realise it until much later.]_

_"That's the mystery I mentioned to Master Draken," my father replied, "but I suspect it has something to do with the flame I saw in his mind. He's had too much practice for that to have been a remnant of the Void exercise." Having finished writing, he leaned back in his chair and studied the paper with the prediction. "I wonder who this refers to. The Archer and the Swordsman. The Phoenix..."_

_"The Dragon," I mentioned as he trailed off. He looked up at me._

_"Hmm? Oh that's likely Master Draken," he responded absently, focusing on the page once more. "That's one of the old meanings of his family name, or near enough. The 'new Light' could well refer to his unusual power, whatever it turns out to be. This is going to require time and consideration."_

_"Are you going to tell him? About his power?" It seemed fair to me to let him know, even if we had no idea exactly what it was. The glow on the doors faded, and my father opened his mouth to answer, but stopped. His eyed lost focus, and he tilted his head slightly. I waited patiently while he completed the Mindlink conversation, idly wondering who it might be. It didn't last long, which implied the sender was a Master-level telepath._

_"That's an interesting development," he said, his eyes once more focusing on me. "It seems a new Portal Stone has appeared in the Hadrian district."_

_"I thought the Conclave stopped creating new Stones. There are enough unexplored worlds as it is."_

_"They didn't make this one," my father said. "It's a Reflection, not an Origin."_

_"From another world? That's a first."_

_"Indeed. You and I are going to take a look at it. First things first, however." He stood up and suddenly seemed to dominate the room. The door swung open silently to reveal Draken pacing anxiously just outside. He looked up as the Magister Eternal of the Conclave beckoned him in. "Master Draken, there's something I need to tell you."_


	6. Rosebud

Closing her eyes, Anastacia began to run through the meditation exercise her grandmother had taught her. Picturing herself as a delicate rosebud, she turned her mental self to an unseen sun, and her petals began to unfold gracefully. The Morello Meditation, named for the maternal ancestor who developed it in the wake of the Fall, had been taught to every daughter of the family as a means to focus the mind for Talent. Ilona Morello had imparted to her scions that effective use of psionics came from surrender, allowing the energies to flow unhindered.

Through long practice, Anastacia could achieve the passive state within a heartbeat, but today she took her time, hoping the Power would come this time when it was most needed. Today was her fifteenth birthday, and if she didn't show any signs of Talent, she would be disowned and dismissed from her father's palace. Not for the first time, Princess Anastacia Christine Morello Ellison of Avalon cursed the infidelity that had resulted in her birth. The fact that neither of her half-brothers had Talent enough to rule didn't help matters either. Hawkwing's blood had thinned so much that the royal house held the throne solely through tradition, but that would end with the current monarch. Anastacia would not be allowed to rule even if she had a strong Talent, mainly as a consequence of her birth. The throne would be passed to her husband, whoever that might be.

All of which was dependant on displaying a Talent she knew she didn't have to the assembled nobility of the city and district, before whom she now stood. Having long been aware of her possible fates, she had tried repeatedly to unlock the psionic Talent they all wanted to see, without any success. Instead she had discovered something else. Sometimes during her meditations, she found herself filled with a glowing warmth, sweeter than anything she had ever felt.

Anastacia smiled as the Power she had been hoping to feel surrounded her. As usual when it happened, her senses became sharper. She heard the impatient tapping of Lady Marcia's feet at the far end of the audience hall, smelled the freshly-cut carnation in Lord Talbot's lapel, and when she opened her eyes, the world was bright and vibrant, making everything seen without the Power seem dull and lifeless. More than anything, she felt truly alive.

"Anastacia?" her mother quietly reminded the girl of her purpose today. Lady Ellen Morello was the king's psionicist, as well as his mistress, and it was her task to determine the strength of her daughter's Talent, or to declare her Lost, should that be the case. She would not lie, however much she might want to. Indeed she _could _not lie to the king, whose primary Talent was the Truthear. Anastacia would have to make her mother believe in the Talent she lacked.

Without quite knowing how, she opened up to the Power, drawing it into her. As the sweetness turned to a dull ache, she mentally pushed it outward. Having never attempted to actually use the Power she felt, Anastacia had no idea what to expect, and was therefore as surprised as everyone else when a strong breeze blew around her, disturbing her long, unbound hair. Keeping her expression neutral, she kept the wind going for a full ten seconds before the Power cut off abruptly, leaving her weak and breathless.

Not the most impressive display of power for a fifteen year old, but it was more than her brothers had managed, and should be enough to secure her place in the palace. The watching nobles muttered amongst themselves, and one or two started to clap quietly for a few moments. Only Lord Draken seemed unimpressed as he looked across to Lady Morello and raised an eyebrow. Following his gaze, Anastacia saw her mother frowning in thought as she regarded her daughter.

_She knows it wasn't Psionics_, Anastacia thought with dismay. _She doesn't know what it really was though, not that I do either, and she's going to have to tell them that. I'm Lost._

As the frantic thoughts crossed her mind, Lady Morello smiled and shook her head slightly, before turning to face Lord Draken. The took a short breath before speaking.

"You saw the wind she created, my Lord," she said slowly. "She also has the ability to enhance her senses considerably." Anastacia suddenly realised her mother had been monitoring everything telepathically from the start, and had elected to support her regardless. "I think you would agree that suffices, wouldn't you Lord Draken?"

"I felt nothing from the girl," the lord replied. "How certain are you that it was truly her who summoned the wind?"

"You watched me Link with her, my Lord. If she used an artefact, or had asked another to cover for her, I would have read it in her mind. I did not." Lady Morello paused, choosing her words with care. "The wind arose in direct response to Princess Anastacia's will. If you didn't feel any psionic expenditure, that is hardly her fault, is it?" She stared defiantly at Lord Draken, who glanced over and behind Anastacia, where her father sat on the gilded throne.

"Lady Morello speaks the truth, Lord Draken." King Rogan announced. "Princess Anastacia has demonstrated her Talent, as custom demands. This audience is over. You may all leave us."

"By your Majesty's leave –," Lord Draken began as the hall began to empty.

"We will discuss our daughter's future later, Draken," Rogan interrupted, frowning slightly. "I've not forgotten our last meeting, but this is neither the time or place. You are dismissed." Lord Draken scowled as he obeyed his king's order. A hand on her shoulder prevented Anastacia from following. When the hall was cleared of all but a handful of guards and servants, Rogan ordered the doors closed and looked down to his daughter and mistress.

"You'll have to marry one of his sons, I'm afraid. There simply isn't anyone powerful enough to stand up to his family other than the Magister, and he won't get involved in politics."

"I know father," Anastacia replied. "We've been through this before."

"True, but that was only speculation. Now you've demonstrated power, and I've publicly acknowledged it…." Rogan sighed, leaning back on his throne. "I don't suppose you have a preference, do you? It may not help, but it's something to consider."

Anastacia had thought about the possibilities and observed Lord Draken's sons ever since she learned she may have to marry one of them. It took only a moment to collect her thoughts and reply.

"Alex is a brute, with no consideration for anyone other than himself. He enjoys wine and women far too much to be a good husband, let alone a king." She glanced warily at her father who was nodding thoughtfully, untroubled by the implication that his reign would one day end. "Martin won't leave his wife and son, not even for the throne. He loves them both too much. That leaves Eric, although rumour has it he's Lost, and should have been disowned years ago."

"Lady Draken is pregnant," Rogan reminded her. "It could easily be another boy."

"That's possible, but Lord Draken won't want to wait for the baby to grow up. He'd marry me himself before that if Lady Clara would let him. Which she won't."

"True enough, she loves her position more than she loves her husband." Rogan laughed as he stood and approached Lady Morello. "It seems those lessons you insisted our daughter share have been of some use."

"You'd not have let me include her if you'd thought otherwise, darling," the psionicist replied, "and we both know it."

"Hey, stay out of my head," joked the king, turning to Anastacia. "It shouldn't be too hard to argue for Eric. Miles knows as well as we do how unsuited his eldest is for kingship, but you should probably prepare for the worst. The boy's still at the Conclave?" He addressed the question to Ellen, who nodded.

"I understand he was to meet with the Magister this morning."

"If anyone can help the boy find a Talent, it'll be your grandfather. I don't know anything that's beyond his abilities. In the meantime, perhaps you could explain to me exactly what I witnessed just now."

"What do you mean?" Anastacia asked, trying to sound innocent.

"Sometimes I can discern a lie even when the speaker is unaware of it," Rogan explained. "When I announced you'd shown your Talent, I knew it wasn't the truth, despite Ellen confirming it. No offence to your abilities, dear." The last directed at the psionicist.

"None taken," replied Ellen, "although if you recall, I was careful to avoid any mention, or even an implication, of Anastacia having psionic Talent when I could easily tell she has none."

Rogan smiled slightly at that. "A loophole known to few, fortunately." He glanced around the large hall. "I don't know about you two, but I'd be more comfortable discussing this in my library."

_**And more secure**_, Ellen farspoke as she headed toward a door.

Nobody spoke on the way to the King's Library, not even telepathically. Only a few rooms in the palace were truly secure from psionic eavesdropping. The library was one of them. Upon reaching it, Rogan placed his hand in the empty space where the handle should have been and focused his energy through his signet ring. The door opened without a sound as the trio entered.

Large bookcases lined two walls, filled from floor to ceiling with numerous volumes of both fact and fiction. Smaller cases were spaced along the remaining walls, interspersed with windows and the sole visible entrance, which Rogan swung closed behind them. A shimmering field covered the door and windows as the three of them each sat on one of the upholstered chairs that surrounded the low table in the centre of the room.

"So tell me about this power of yours, Stacy," her father said.

It didn't take long for Anastacia to explain what little she knew of her ability, although it took longer to demonstrate it again while Linked with her parents. The Power still didn't come whenever she wanted it, although somehow she knew it was becoming easier to summon and channel it.

"You should build your strength slowly," Ellen told her daughter. "Pain is a warning not to push too hard. At least it is with most things. I don't see why your power should be any different."

"I wonder…," Rogan stood up and paced around the room. "There have been a lot more Lost in recent years. Could it be because of this new power you've discovered?"

"It's possible," replied Ellen. "But then why haven't we heard anything about it before?"

"Nobody wants to talk about the Lost," Anastacia muttered. "It's like they stop existing."

"Only in the cities," her mother pointed out. "In the country, and among the Conclave, things are different."

"Perhaps we should ask your grandfather about it," Rogan said. "If there's any information about this power, it'll get to him sooner or later."

Ellen closed her eyes and the glow faded from one of the windows briefly, returning as soon as her eyes opened again.

"He's with Eric Draken right now. DelKayne's in there with them, apparently."

"The Soulknife?" Rogan asked. "Maybe Eric's one too, then. There's hope for you yet, Stacy." The girl smiled shyly.

"Well, I left a message that we need to see him," Ellen said, "but he's a busy man and it could be a while. In the meantime, Anastacia and I will try and work on some way to reliably control this new Power of hers."


	7. First Strike

As soon as the two psionicists vanished, Sean Connor and turned to his daughter.

"Go and fetch Mac for me. He should be in one of the south fields."

Brigid nodded reluctantly. It was quite a distance to the south fields on the other side of the house, and she didn't have a convenient travel power like her father or brother. She'd much rather stay and guard the Portal Stone, but she knew her father would say it was too dangerous. She set off at a steady pace as Sean leaned back against a tree facing the Stone.

Passing the house, Brigid saw Liam down the path ahead of her, and briefly considered sending him to find their eldest brother. She discarded that idea as she came close enough to see him panting heavily. The run to their father had quite obviously exhausted him. She slowed as she approached but didn't stop.

"Know where Mac is?" she asked as she passed. Liam shook his head wearily.

"Said something about barley when he left this morning."

Brigid nodded, and sped up again. If Mac was checking the barley fields then there was only one possibility this side of the house, although there was no guarantee he would still be there when Brigid reached it. After several minutes of running, she rounded the corner and was relieved to see her brother stepping out onto the path, closing the gate behind him. Running up to Mac, she excitedly described the new feature of their farm, and told him their father wanted him.

"Probably wants you to help organise a guard on the Stone," she said as they started back to the house. "No doubt he's going to say it's too dangerous for me and Liam."

"Dangerous?" Mac laughed. "More like boring. From what Will's told me about these Portal Stones, there could be a hundred different worlds that it connects to from the other side. It might be months before anyone comes here. Until then, it's going to be nothing but waiting."

"I'm good at waiting."

"You're also good at getting meat for dinner," her brother responded. "Better that I ever was. I just don't have your accuracy, which means I tend to lose stones."

Brigid smiled, considering her brother's secondary Talent, that Wilson had once called the 'David and Goliath trick' after an ancient story she had heard as an apprentice. The smaller the stone that Mac telekinetically 'threw', the more lethal it became, but also harder to target. Brigid's bolts were more accurate, more deadly, and were never lost. Only when she was exhausted did she ever fail to manifest them.

"You really like Will, don't you?" Brigid's unexpected question caused her brother to stumble.

"She's an interesting person to be with," he began hesitantly.

"I like her too," Brigid announced. "It'll be good to have a big sister instead of being one." A few paces later she realised Mac had stopped, and turned to face him. "I know you've spoken to her about it. Liam heard you last week in the kitchen, but he ran to tell me before he heard her answer."

"She said she'd think about it," Mac muttered. "We'd have to wait until she advances in any case. The Conclave doesn't like Journeymen getting married when they have the potential to make Master status, and she has her sights set on that anyway."

"How long will that be, do you know?"

"A year," replied Mac. "Two at the most, although it really depends on Master Darius. Hmm, that's odd." Something ahead caught his attention.

Narrowing his eyes, he focused the Farsight that was his primary Talent on the dark clouds forming just above the farmhouse. Small flashes of lightning sparked fitfully within the storm cloud, becoming larger and more frequent as the cloud grew rapidly.

"The Portal Stone!" Brigid shouted, staring at the gathering storm. "It has to be." She started running toward it, shouting back to her brother. "Father's there on his own."

By the time Brigid rounded the house to see the Portal Stone above the hedge, rain was sleeting down and bolts of lightning flashed toward the ground, starting small but short-lived fires in the grassy fields.

"Father!" Brigid ran up the path to the gap in the trees and was greeted with a sight that would haunt her for many years. Dark clouds shrouded a short figure beside the Portal Stone. Black lightning from its outstretched hand formed a crackling cage around Sean Connor, who was writhing and screaming in agony. The girl watched in horror as her father seemed to age rapidly, before crumbling away to dust.

"No!" Almost without thinking, Brigid loosed an arrow at the shrouded figure. The silver bolt flew true but vanished with a flash as it his the clouds surrounding her target. The girl barely noticed, shooting bolt after bolt, each one clearing part of the cloudy shield. By the time he turned to face Brigid, his gender was obvious, although his face was still covered by shifting clouds.

He raised his hand toward Brigid, who instinctively ducked to the side. The oak tree she hid behind shielded her a little from the lightning, but not enough. With a loud crack, the sturdy trunk shattered into countless splinters, the concussive force of the blast sending her flying into the ditch on the far side of the path. The top of the tree fell across her unconscious form, trapping her beneath it.

The dark-clad man followed Brigid onto the path. With a gesture, he lifted the treetop and casually threw it to one side. He was so intent on the girl that he didn't notice her brother pick up Darius' communication crystal from where it lay in the middle of the path. Holding it flat on his palm, Mac focused his energies on it, but not to call for help. Instead, the crystal twisted to point at the intruder and flew directly at him, sinking deeply into an arm.

With a snarl the interloper turned to glare at Mac. After a moment, he waved his good arm dismissively and sent Mac flying into the Portal Stone, before turning back to Brigid. The girl was beginning to recover, but was unable to dodge the lightning a second time. For a few brief seconds that felt like an eternity, Brigid knew nothing but pain. Then the lightning was cut off by a glowing blade of energy intercepting it and drawing it away as the curved weapon continued its flight. A second blade flashed past, severing the dark man's wrist.

Seemingly unaware of pain, the one-handed intruder turned to the five figures approaching from the farmhouse. Guy formed two more mind blades to replace the now-vanished ones he had thrown, and ran up the path.

"I'll hold him off," he shouted. "You get the kid." Seconds later he dived to the ground to avoid a bolt of ice-blue energy from his antagonist's eyes. The clouds above whirled around and rapidly descended, surrounding the invader and rebuilding his misty shield. "On second thought," Guy amended, "you hold him off while I get…."

A blast of lightning struck down from the overhead storm cloud just in front of the Soulknife, cutting him off. Rolling to the side, he threw both blades at the shrouded man and quickly stood. The cloud shield wavered slightly, but rapidly re-formed. As Guy ran the short distance to the ditch, his father opened his mouth and emitted a piercing shriek at the intruder. The sonic energy pierced the shroud, causing its target to stagger back. Darius followed up with a telepathic assault, having little talent for Psychokinesis. It proved to be a fatal mistake.

As soon as the Nomad's attack struck the enemy's Thought Shield, the intruder recognised the unique mental signature from the communication crystal still embedded in his arm. Splitting his mind in order to maintain his defences, he channelled psychic energy into the crystal. The properties that made it easy to contact Darius enabled the invader to slip into the Nomad's mind unchallenged. Darius realised the danger only an instant before the intruder shut down his mind permanently.

Taking advantage of the apparent distraction, Draken and Wilson slipped through the trees to the unconscious body of Mackenzie Connor at the base of the Portal Stone. While the Egoist healer focused her power on her paramour, Draken drew his sword and took up a defensive position between Stone and invader. He took a breath and assumed the Void, this time expecting the flickering flame he had tried to banish earlier. Now he knew it was connected to his mysterious power, but had no idea how to use it.

On the path, the intruder's split mind worked efficiently, one part countering Taryn's sonic attack with a blast of flame while the other drew down more clouds, this time forming a new hand to replace the one severed by Guy's mind blade. The psionic fire struck and curled round the Magister's Inertial Barrier, leaving the Psion unharmed, but the intruder didn't stop the assault. Although Taryn was safe from physical attack, the Barrier prevented him from counter-attacking.

Having regenerated his hand, the now unoccupied mind segment split once more. The invader raised his arms, pointing to the two pairs of people on either side of him, and black lightning shot out toward Brigid and Wilson. Beside the ditch, two fresh mind blades crossed to protect the girl while Draken tried to do the same with his single blade, without success. The lightning simply arced around him however he tried to block it.

With Wilson's screams in his ears, he reached inside for the fire within the Void. At first it seemed to slip away, then suddenly Power flowed into him like a raging torrent. In the space of a heartbeat he went from powerless desperation to fighting for his life, somehow knowing that the slightest lapse would destroy him in an instant.

Although unable to channel the Power he fought to contain, the mere act of grasping it heightened his senses considerably. Even so, he barely noticed the thin, near invisible thread of energy connecting the intruder to something behind the young noble. Glancing back, he saw it was emanating from the recess in the Portal Stone. The floating address symbol glowed and pulsed rhythmically, sending small pulses along the thread.

"The Stone!" Realisation flooded through the Void. "He's drawing power from the Stone!" Draken's attempts to sever the thread proved as fruitless as his attempt to block the black lightning, and stepping into its path did nothing. Turning to face the Stone, he frantically tried to channel the Power he held. To the side, he could see Wilson wrapped in lightning. She looked older now, her dark hair streaked with grey.

As despair began to filter through Draken's Void, a bolt of silver shot past him, striking the centre of the Portal Stone's glowing address symbol. The blood red symbol flared up briefly and vanished, sending a burst of silver energy along the connecting thread. Wilson slumped down across her patient as the lightning cut off abruptly. Above her, cracks rapidly appeared on the Portal Stone, shining with red energy.

As the pristine white pillar cracked apart, Draken forced the Power within him outward, desperately trying to contain the imminent blast. The Stone exploded in a shower of shards and flame. Instantly, white light filled Draken's sight and his skin seemed to burn as he fell to his knees, before mercifully blacking out moments later.


	8. Guy's Journal

_28 Kay 487 AF_

_My father hadn't explained why we took Eric Draken along with us to the alien Portal Stone, saying simply that he had a feeling the young noble should be there. Obviously he had some precognitive gift, although why that surprised me, I have no idea, as he seems to have every other Psionic Talent. Probably because as far as I know, he's never attempted to deliberately manifest precognition of any kind._

_His foresight saved our lives. Even if Brigid had known to shoot the Portal Stone without Draken's revelation, the backlash would likely have incinerated us all, along with a half the farm. Eric's mysterious power somehow created an invisible wall around the Stone, containing the raging inferno. An amazing feat for a man who had only learned of his gift less than an hour earlier. Even more remarkable is the fact that the shield remained long after Draken passed out. (That's assuming that it works in a similar fashion to Psionic Talents, which have to be maintained by concentration. It may not be the case with Draken's 'channelling', though. That's something we're going to have to research as he learns to use his power.)_

_As the Stone disintegrated, the intruder's form broke up, becoming dark clouds which cleared rapidly, along with those overhead. Examining the area psionically, my father concluded that the invader was some form of psychic clone, projected from the other side of the Stone. Destroying the Stone severed the connection, and dissipated the manifestation. Although psychic clones aren't that uncommon, one capable of channelling the manifester's powers could only have originated from a Grand Master Psion, of which there are only two. (In our world at least. It's possible the origin world of the Stone has a greater development of Psionics than our own, but it is impossible to locate that world without detailed analysis of the Stone, which of course no longer exists.)_

_It's probably just as well, really. Only my father was in any condition to follow up on that line of investigation. Draken and Wilson were both unconscious. Brigid and her brother awake, but exhausted. Master Darius dead. Myself burned by that damned lightning…. The Conclave's healers say the scars will never heal properly, but it's not like I was the most handsome man in the world anyway. My father decided we should retreat and regroup. A decision with which I heartily agreed, not least to protect the others. As he flew us all back to the Conclave Manor, he said something which, while troubling, seemed perfectly correct._

_"It seems you've found your Archer, Swordsman."_

_I feel a connection to Brigid that goes deeper than anything else I've ever felt, as though we're merely two halves of the same person. I think she feels it too, since she's barely left my side since I 'sheltered her from the Storm', to use her words._

_I think that comment worries me more than my father's. If the entity behind the attack was the Storm from Draken's Foretelling, then this was just the start, and there's worse to come. Which makes it all the more important to locate his origin world._

_1 Gawain 487 AF_

_Draken and Wilson finally awoke this morning. Draken seems much the same as usual, although somewhat exhausted. The Egoists say he should be recovered by tomorrow and thus able to start learning about his power._

_Wilson wasn't so lucky. The black lightning that struck her did more than just age her twenty years. According to the healers, it drained all the psionic energy out of her. It's as though she was born without Talent like Draken, although without the channelling power he possesses. She didn't take it well. It seems she'd wanted to become a Master Egoist, but even apprentice is far beyond her now. Fortunately she has Mackenzie Connor to help her. Like most rural folk, he cares little for her lack of Talent, and her aged appearance doesn't seem to bother him._

_In conversation with her brother, Brigid mentioned what had happened to their father, and that there was now nothing left of him but dust. Those revelations sent me to the Egoists in something of a panic, since I had also been struck by that lightning, albeit indirectly through my mind blades. My fears were unfounded though. Although scarred, I've not aged visibly as Wilson has, nor is my Talent in any way diminished. My father thinks it may be due to the unique way in which I channel my psionic gift._

_Speaking of unique, it seems Draken isn't. Upon our return to the Conclave, my father received a message to see the king's psionicist, Ellen Morello, regarding her daughter. Although wounded, I was able to tag along with him._

_It seems Princess Anastacia has the same ability as Draken. Listening to her description, I would have classed it as something different – Draken described a struggle for control, while the princess spoke of a gentle embrace. It was my father who pointed out the similarities to me. The enhanced senses, the feeling of being truly alive, and more importantly, the fact that the power seemed to come from some external source, and was merely being channelled through the wielder. Anastacia was pleased to hear that she wasn't unique, although she was disappointed to learn that her talent hadn't been recorded before, and she would have to learn to use it by herself._

_I told Eric about the princess when we returned to the Grand Hall. He laughed. It seems she was the main reason he'd been so desperate to have a Talent. Given the political situation in the capital, he'd known for some time that she would marry into his family, and he'd been admiring her for years. Without Talent, he would have been exiled, a city tradition I have always disagreed with. Now, with my father's help, he could stay and be accepted, and have the chance to marry the princess._

_Before I left him, he commented that it must be fate that his potential bride had no more psionic ability than he did. Considering his Foretelling, I'm inclined to agree._

_2 Gawain 487 AF_

_I've returned to the Connor's farm. I was thinking of returning Brigid to her family, if only for a while. I'm not really comfortable looking after a young girl, despite the connection I have with her. There have been times when I forget that she's only twelve years old, and that her father was murdered before her eyes just two days ago._

_Since the only Nomad who had ever been to the farm was dead, we were forced to travel to the local Manor and walk, although I sent an apprentice flying ahead to alert Brigid's mother that we would be coming. Although obviously reluctant to return home, Brigid set a good pace as she guided me to the farm, and we arrived at the field that had contained the Stone by early afternoon._

_I'd thought the explosion would have burned itself out after two days, but the inferno was still raging behind Draken's invisible wall. The barrier shaped the flames into a column twenty feet high, and completely blocked any heat that might be emanating from it. The white platform on which the Stone had stood was grey and cracked, flickers of red shining from beneath. It took me a few moments to realise that I wasn't actually standing on the floor, but an unseen platform just above it._

_While I stood marvelling at Draken's shield, Brigid knelt by a tree at the edge of the field. From her attitude, I concluded that that was where her father had been killed. If not for Brigid, Wilson would have died the same way, along with the rest of us, with the possible exception of Draken. (The Egoists haven't ruled out the possibility of long-term effects of the black lightning on either myself or Wilson, though)_

_Watching Brigid there seemed to emphasise how young she was, despite her looks and attitude, and how fragile her experience had made her. It reinforced my resolve to return her to her mother until she came of age, which had been wavering considerably as we'd been travelling together._

_After a few minutes, I became aware of somebody approaching from the house. The apprentice I'd sent ahead was leading a tall woman, who even from a distance resembled Brigid enough that I had no trouble identifying her as the girl's mother. She appeared somewhat haggard, and as she came nearer, it was obvious she had been crying. Apparently my father had informed her of the events here when he'd escorted Mackenzie and Wilson back after seeing his grand-daughter yesterday. (I always find it odd to think that Ellen's technically my niece, considering she's nearly twice my age.)_

_Mhairi Connor greeted me briefly as she passed by on her way to her daughter. I noticed she deliberately avoided the centre of the field where the Stone had stood. Sensing her desire for privacy, I stepped out onto the path to talk with the apprentice. His knowledge of the people and area might prove useful if the Storm chose this location to pursue his invasion. Even if he attacked elsewhere, the information would give me valuable insight into my Archer's background and upbringing. While I was picking the apprentice's brains about various subjects, the two women in the field spoke quietly, at least at first._

_Only when they raised their voices did I notice the argument they were having, and although I tried to ignore it at first, it rapidly became clear that although her mother wanted her to remain at the farm with her family, Brigid was determined to stay with me. Her motivation and reasoning were surprisingly mature. She wanted revenge for her father's death, which was understandable, and she had deduced that the best way to achieve that would be to join the Conclave, since if there was a conflict, the Psionicists would be the main defensive force of our world, as well as the primary target for an entity that drained psionic abilities. I hadn't been aware she knew what the black lightning did, but she'd obviously spoken to Wilson or her brother about it when I wasn't present._

_Deciding to add my opinion to the argument, I approached the women, but before I could speak, Mhairi turned to me with exasperation, and asked me to promise to keep Brigid safe. Although I wanted to tell the girl she would be better with her mother, and that I would make sure she knew what was happening with the Storm, I found myself swearing that I would protect the girl from everything, and keep her from harm. At that point, Mhairi invited me back to the farmhouse to rest after our long walk. The short rest turned into lunch, before Brigid pointed out that there wasn't enough time to walk back to the Conclave Manor before nightfall._

_After setting up a room for me, Mhairi provided me with the pen and paper with which I'm writing this entry. I'll have to remember to transfer it to my journal when I get back home._


	9. The Build Up to War

_**The next few years were busy for the Conclave. Although he was the first, Eric Draken was by no means the only person to foretell the coming Storm. Within days of the attack at the Connor's farm, Seers were coming to me with predictions of death and destruction. For nearly a week, I kept my counsel, considering my options, before settling on the only sensible course open to me.**_

_**I told the Conclave everything. They were, after all, likely to be in the front lines of whatever conflict was coming, and I'd never liked sending troops into battle ignorant or unprepared. An unfortunate incident during the early days of Hawkwing's rise had highlighted the flaws of keeping secrets from your troops during war only too well.**_

_**The psionicists of the Conclave responded to the news better than I had expected. Those of us who stood apart from the myriad squabbles of politics generally did so out of higher concerns than petty power struggles. From the start, the Conclave's responsibility had always been to the world and all its inhabitants, yet I'd never truly realised how deeply ingrained the doctrine of service had been throughout the organisation I led.**_

_**During an open discussion, the Conclave Seers quickly decided to post a watch on all known Portal Stones, and to keep an eye out for any more that might appear. Most of the Nomads returned to the study of the Portal worlds when their duties permitted, following the general consensus that the foreign Stone had been a copy of one of our own discovered by the Storm, rather than invented. On all the Reflections in the other worlds, the symbol for our own world was distinctly prominent, for ease of identification in an emergency.**_

_**Egoists and Kineticists began researching and practicing healing and combat powers that would be required when the war began, while Psions and Shapers worked together to forge weapons and armour for the non-psionicists who would inevitably be drawn into the fighting.**_

_**Alone of the factions, the Telepaths did little preparation for the war itself. Many of the discipline's powers already had some degree of offensive or combat capability, and only required training and practice. To occupy the remainder of their time, I suggested they search among those people termed the Lost in order to try and ascertain whether any of them shared the new power wielded by Eric and Anastacia. Considering the relatively slow progress of these pioneers, any channellers that were found would be unlikely to learn enough to be of any significant help during the fighting. Indeed, that was the last thing I expected or wanted of them. If I'd interpreted Draken's prediction correctly, then their role would begin after the war, replacing the Conclave.**_

_**The thing that amazed me most about these preparations was the secrecy with which they were carried out. The various national leaders were informed about our activities, and the reasons behind them, but the vast majority of the world's population were completely oblivious to most of it, right up until the war actually began. Only the Telepath's search for channellers was apparent to all, although not the true reason for it. Only a few were discovered before the war, usually completely unaware of their abilities, although more emerged during the conflict, and we eventually discovered the ability to channel was far more widespread than we had initially thought.**_

_**Eric and Stacy were married within a year of what became known as the First Strike, and were well suited to each other in temperament as well as powers. Despite their closeness, they were unable to effectively help each other learn to channel. The power was too different for each to comprehend more than the basic concepts of the other.**_

_**During the five years leading up to the onset of hostilities, Ellen and I worked with all the emergent channellers to help develop their powers. Since we knew almost nothing about this new power, progress was necessarily a slow and tedious process. It didn't take long for Eric and Anastacia to discover that the power could be split into five distinct types, which Eric named after the classical elements: Air; Earth; Fire; Water; and Spirit, and that combining them in a manner similar to weaving a tapestry in different ways yielded different results. (After he'd learned to distinguish the 'flows', I took Eric back to the still shielded Portal Stone to learn exactly what he had done. It seems he'd used weaves of Fire and Earth mixed with Air to turn the inferno in upon itself. I suspect Stacy would simply have created a solid barrier of Air instead. The weaves had been 'tied off' and were sustained by the energies within the destroyed Stone, so there was no danger that the shield would fail before the fire burned itself out.)**_

_**They also discovered that what worked for men did not always work for women, often with painful results. Anastacia appeared naturally proficient with Air and Water, while Eric hardly needed to think when working with Fire or Earth. More than once one of them lost concentration momentarily, before the other would almost instinctively counter with opposing flows, preventing many a potential disaster.**_

_**The princess and her young lord weren't the only ones well-suited to each other. Guy's innate sense of caution often served to restrain Brigid's natural impulsiveness, which she never seemed to grow out of. What had seemed at first to be merely a youthful infatuation with my son blossomed into something deeper as she matured, and Guy soon began to return the feelings. It came as no surprise to anyone who knew them when they decided to get married as soon as Brigid decided she was old enough, although Guy managed to stall the actual ceremony for nearly a year in order for her to turn sixteen years old.**_

_**Despite all our intensive searching, we were unable to locate the Storm's home world until just before he launched his first major assault. Ironically, this information didn't come from any Seer either within the Conclave or without. Rather, it was revealed to us by some very unusual travellers….**_


	10. Homesteading

"It was kind of your father to grant you his hunting estate to use for training, Eric," Guy commented, riding awkwardly alongside the more proficient noble.

"Nothing kind about it," Eric replied. "He's been wanting to offload it onto me for years. I'm only surprised it took him this long."

"His father wouldn't let him," Anastacia commented from behind her husband. Eric twisted round to look at her.

"And now grandfather's dead," he stated. "Dad could at least have waited until after the funeral. Shown some measure of respect for the old man."

"Miles doesn't have any respect for anyone but himself," Brigid's quiet statement might have gone unheard, had Eric not been using his Power to control the horses. He pulled round sharply to face her, the sudden movement causing Guy's horse to rear up, startled. His eyes narrowed angrily and he raised a hand to point at Brigid. The young woman smiled as a glowing silver arrow materialised behind him. Then a shimmering blue field sprang into existence, surrounding Eric and his horse.

"Stop that," Anastacia commanded. "Both of you." Eric looked puzzled for a moment, before looking behind him. Noticing Brigid's arrow pointing at his head, he rapidly dropped his hand and guided his horse to one side.

"It wouldn't have killed him," Brigid said as the shaft winked out of existence. "Just knocked him off his horse."

"Can you be sure of that?" Anastacia asked. "Surely that's why we're out here, isn't it? To learn to mitigate the more lethal aspects of our powers."

"I've been able to control the intensity of my bolts for years," retorted Brigid. "Even before I met Guy."

"Speaking of Guy…," a voice interjected, "Perhaps one of you could help me here…." His horse's sudden movement had thrown Guy off, but his foot had become caught in the saddle strap, and the horse's movements were getting it even more tangled up.

The shield around Eric faded as its creator burst into laughter, along with the other two still on their horses. Anastacia reached out with the Power to calm Guy's steed as Brigid jumped down to unbuckle the strap trapping her husband's foot.

"Thanks," he said, when he could stand. "Whose idea was it to use horses anyway? Why couldn't we use bikes?"

"Because bikes need psionic talent to use, which means Eric and I can't," Anastacia explained patiently, as she had done so many times in the past few years. "And they'd scare the horses more than Eric can control if you'd brought yours along with us. Horses are very sensitive creatures when it comes to psionics."

"And using horses was your wife's idea," Eric stated, "so take it up with her."

Guy looked down at Brigid, who had just finished re-buckling his horse's saddle strap. "Er…, maybe later. So what's this estate actually like?" he asked, climbing back onto the horse.

"Huge," Eric replied. "About a dozen farms bordering an area of woodland you could lose a small town in. I haven't been there since I was a child, but I remember the forest seemed such a peaceful place. Almost like the Conclave citadel."

"My father says the citadel was built on an old monastery. The site's been considered a holy place for nearly two thousand years."

"I suppose he remembers them building original monastery, right?"

"He's not that old," Guy laughed, "but he _was _alive when the monks were still living there before the Fall."

"It's odd," Eric mused. "It was always my mother who took me to the forest. She loved it. So did I. I would have thought my father did too, from all the hunting trophies at home, but for some reason he hates the place."

"Do you think it's because his brother died there, perhaps?" Anastacia wondered.

"His brother?" Surprise broke through the calm dispassion that was characteristic whenever Eric channelled as turned to face her, but he managed to maintain control of the Power flowing within him.

"What? You didn't know?" Anastacia asked, puzzled.

"No," replied her husband. "Nobody ever said anything about my having an uncle. How do you know about him?"

"Technically you didn't. He died before you were born. My father's archivists keep detailed records of the noble families. Once I understood I'd have to marry one of your family, I decided to learn all I could about them."

"So who was he? How did he die?"

"His name was Erik, like yours," Anastacia replied, "and it was a hunting accident. While they were stalking a stag, Erik and Miles split up to flank it, but your uncle moved too far around the beast. Something startled the stag as your father shot at it. He missed his target, and killed his brother instead. That was the last time he ever went hunting."

"That actually explains a few things about dad. I guess he named me after his brother, then. Or was that mother's idea?"

"I couldn't say. They never explained why they called you Eric, and nobody ever asked. Apparently Miles was somewhat difficult for some time afterward. He practically crippled Lord Talbot's brother for suggesting that it might not have been an accident. Erik was the elder brother, and stood to inherit the title."

"Perhaps we should get going again," Guy interrupted. "You said the lodge was deep in the forest, and we're not even at the edge yet. If we want to get there before nightfall…."

"Well that's not a problem," replied Eric absently. "We're actually on the estate now. The forest should be on the other side of that ridge over there." He pointed at a line of hills a few miles distant. "It's in a valley, so we can't see the treetops from here."

"No point hanging around here, then." Guy said, setting off along the road that lead around the ridge. The others followed, Eric bringing up the rear in silence, brooding on the new information his wife had given him.

The road took them round a path three times as long as if they'd ridden straight across the fields, and twice they were delayed by passing a field that was being harvested. The farmers of this region were rich enough to afford combined harvesters, large psionically-powered devices that reaped, threshed and winnowed the crop in a single operation. The streamlined vehicles floated noiselessly above the ground across the fields. Red danger signs on the front warned people away from the infinitely thin Dimension Blades that cut the corn. Somewhere inside the device, the grain was separated from the chaff, which was collected in a container floating to one side. The grain was deposited into a similar container on the other side of the vehicle. Another man drove a different device behind the harvester which collected the discarded stalks and packed them into large bales.

Despite the silence with which they worked, or maybe because of it, both vehicles spooked the horses, causing the party to halt while Eric struggled to restrain their mounts. Only when the harvester and baler were moving to the other end of the field could they continue along the road. As they watched the vehicles pass, Guy thought back to what his father had said regarding their construction. Something about them being noisy, dirty machines before the Fall, running on a limited fuel supply that polluted the environment. Despite the effect psionics had on domestic animals, it was certainly a better source of power than the so-called 'fossil fuels' had been.

By the time they reached the hedge marking the forest boundary, the sun hung low in the afternoon sky, casting long shadows toward the ridge. Eric led the party round to an iron gate in the hedge, which Anastacia pulled open with delicate weaves of Air. Her husband nodded his thanks as he guided his horse through, stopping suddenly as the animal reared up without warning. Years of practice kept him in his saddle as he swore loudly.

"Problem?" Guy asked, with a wry smile.

"It's gone!" Eric exclaimed. "The Power's gone!"

"You've not lost it for years," Anastacia said, puzzled. "Well, not unless you were exhausted, which you obviously aren't, so you should be able to grasp it again easily enough."

"I've been trying," Eric was starting to panic, "but I can't even sense the Source. The Void's just … empty."

"I can still channel," Anastacia spurred her horse toward her husband. "Maybe I can…." She broke off with a start as she passed through the gate. "Guess I spoke too soon."

"You too?" Eric asked. Anastacia nodded.

"It's like there's nothing there at all," she said. "Could the Storm be doing this? Has he found a way to block our powers, do you think?"

"I doubt it," Brigid commented quietly. "Both of you come back here a moment."

Eric came through first, breathing a sigh of relief as he passed through the gap in the hedge. "It's back," he said, looking down at a fallen leaf in the ground, which slowly lifted up level with his eyes. Anastacia followed, smiling happily as a breeze rose up, blowing several other leaves along the ground in a tight circle.

"Now try and pick up that stick from here," Brigid pointed through the gate.

Eric turned and concentrated for a moment, then frowned. "There's some kind of barrier there. My weaves can't get past the other side of the hedge."

"Neither can mine," Anastacia confirmed. "Is it just us, or are your powers blocked too, Brigid?"

A silver arrow appeared beside the younger woman's head and launched itself toward the stick. As it passed the hedge, its glow faded considerably, and although the shaft hit the stick square on, it did little more than rock it slightly. A thrown mind blade from Guy yielded similar results.

"Not blocked, but almost useless, it seems," the Soulknife said. "Looks like we won't be practising our powers here after all."

"Apparently not," Eric said, "but we can sort that out in the morning. I'd rather not impose on the local farmers when there's a perfectly good cabin a couple of hours' ride into the forest. I'm sure Stacy and I can live without our Power for a while. It's not as though there are many dangerous animals out during the day, and you and Brigid can no doubt scare off any that might cross our paths between you."

"If you're sure you don't mind...," Guy began, cutting off as a glowing shaft materialised between the two men, pointing into the forest. Instinctively, Guy summoned a pair of mind blades and readied them to throw at the shadow emerging from the depths of the forest.

The shadow quickly resolved into a figure nearly six feet tall, with pointed, tufted ears poking through a shaggy brown mane. Drooping eyebrows framed a pair of pale wide eyes, above a snout-like nose that dominated the face. The strange humanoid was dressed in a colourful coat that flared at the waist like a kilt, with green trousers and a brown leather boots.

It was also sucking its thumb thoughtfully.


	11. The Ogier

"Morrid," shouted a distinctly female voice from within the trees. The strange creature stared at the humans for several moments, completely unconcerned by the psionic weapons levelled at it.

"Morrid, where are you?" This shout was louder, as the individual issuing it approached. The stranger before the party took his thumb out of his mouth and called back in a high, piping voice. "I'm by the gate, Kiera, and you'll never guess what I've found."

"If it's another Light-blasted weapon, Grandmother will..." The grumbling cut off abruptly as its speaker emerged from a thick clump of trees. She resembled the first creature in most respects, but was obviously female and a good two feet taller. Her coat and trousers were a drab brown, but had a few leaves embroidered in pale green thread down the sides. She carried a bundle of sticks under one arm and held a wide-headed axe with a comparatively short handle in her other hand.

She regarded the mounted party in silence for a long moment as she approached Morrid. Without taking her eyes off the humans, she passed the cord of wood to the smaller figure.

"Take this back to the house, then find Grandmother and tell her we have visitors." Morrid nodded and headed back into the forest, humming quietly through swaying branches. After several more moments examining the four humans, Kiera sat down on a fallen tree trunk several yards back from the hedge, propping the axe up beside her. Then she took a slim book from a coat pocket and started to read.

Now that the initial shock had passed, Eric rode forward, deliberately cutting between his companions and the reading figure.

"Hello there," he began. "My name is Eric Draken. This is my wife Anastacia and our friends Guy and Brigid DelKayne." He indicated the people as he named them. He paused a moment, then decided to err on the side of politeness. "May I ask what your name is?" The reader ignored him. He tried again.

"We mean you no harm." That comment provoked a sharp laugh, but no other reaction. "We'd like to learn more about you and your people." Kiera glanced up at him briefly before returning to her book. Eric turned round to face his friends.

"Any ideas?" he asked quietly. "Apart from that, of course." He pointed to Brigid's glowing arrow still floating in the air beside her.

"Well, she spoke our language, so she obviously understands you," Anastacia said. "She just doesn't want to talk."

"Maybe she's not allowed to," Guy commented, dispelling his mind blades. "I've read about cultures that wouldn't let their people talk to foreigners. Only a select few were permitted to interact with outsiders."

"She doesn't seem too worried about us," said Eric.

"Why should she be worried?" Guy asked. "She's eight feet tall, with a hand axe half as big as you are. I'd need both hands to even lift the thing, let alone use it."

"True," Eric conceded, "but she didn't seem particularly bothered by your blades, or Brigid's arrow either."

"Your energy weapons will do me little harm where I sit," Kiera announced loudly. "The Homesteading protects the Ogier." She looked up as the four humans turned to face her. "These ears aren't just for show, you know?" She turned a page in her book and resumed reading quietly.

"So the barrier's deliberate, then?" Eric asked. The Ogier looked up at him.

"'The Homesteading is safety,'" she recited tonelessly. "'The Homesteading is peace.' If you want to know the details, you'll have to ask Elder Damon. Assuming they decide to let you in, that is."

"And how would they stop us?" Brigid asked icily. The Ogier smiled slightly.

"The Singers would stop you." With that enigmatic, yet definite statement, Kiera deliberately turned her back to the humans and continued reading.

"Looks like the conversation's over," Brigid muttered, reluctantly dispelling her arrow.

"Singers..." Eric seemed lost in thought, his head bowed slightly.

"What about them?" Guy asked. Eric looked up at him.

"Did you notice the way the trees moved as the other one left?"

"Just branches blowing in the wind," replied Guy. "What of it?"

"What wind?" Eric asked. Guy opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. The Soulknife looked back across at the motionless branches.

"He was humming as he left," Eric stated quietly, "and the branches moved out of his way. Without any wind."

"If these Singers can control trees and bushes like that," Guy reasoned, "then they can certainly stop people reaching the heart of the forest. Either by hiding the paths or simply making the trees attack outright."

"From her comment about peace, I think it would probably be the former," Anastacia said, glancing at the still-visible axe resting within easy reach of the Ogier. "At least, I hope so," she added nervously.

That thought seemed to kill any further conversation. The four humans and one Ogier waited in silence for some time before the younger Ogier returned, leading two older individuals. One of them was dressed in a similar fashion to the original two, albeit with more decoration on his clothes. His hair and eyebrows were silver-grey and he walked with a pronounced limp, leaning heavily on the tall staff he held in both hands. The other Ogier wore a long dress that seemed more embroidery than material. Delicate stitching of all colours picked out images of a myriad of plants and leaves against a pale blue background. Although shorter than her companion, she moved with such quiet assurance than few people would fail to recognise that she was the one in charge.

As they approached, Kiera quickly put her book away, stood up and attempted a curtsey, marred somewhat by her lack of skirts. The older woman nodded in recognition, but frowned slightly as she marched past Kiera right up to the gap in the hedge. Her companion followed close behind as she examined the four humans. Picking up her axe, Kiera moved closer to flank the older woman.

Once again, Eric rode forward a few steps and introduced himself and his friends. The Ogier turned to her companion and spoke sharply in a musical language completely foreign to the humans. The older Ogier responded in kind with a shrug. After another brief unintelligible sentence, the woman turned back to the humans.

"I am Speaker Anla, daughter of Sula, daughter of Teela. This is Elder Damon, son of Laefan, son of Colfar," she indicated her companion. "And my grandchildren, Kiera, daughter of Marith and Morrid, son of Falgar, son of Cormon. What circumstance brings you to the border of our Homesteading?"

There was a slight hint of a challenge in that question. As she asked it, Kiera hefted her axe and shifted slightly forward. On Anla's other side, Damon did the same, although rather than readying his weapon, he began to hum quietly. Still filled with the Power, Eric noted these subtle actions as though they had been shouted, and considered his response carefully before answering.

"In truth, we were unaware of your presence here," he said. "This forest and the surrounding farms has been considered my family's territory and hunting preserve for several generations. My friends and I were intending to stay here for a few weeks to practise our powers."

"What powers?" Anla asked. Kiera answered the question in the Ogier's musical tongue before Eric had a chance to respond. Anla nodded curtly when the younger Ogier has finished her explanation, and addressed Eric. "Those powers will not be effective within the Homesteading," she declared.

"So we had just discovered," Eric responded smoothly. "Guy and Brigid's abilities do little harm, while my wife and I can't even sense the source of our Power on your side of the hedge." Damon stopped humming and frowned thoughtfully at that as Eric continued. "I believe that was not always the case though. Not with regard to Psionics, at least. This is the first time I've been here since I discovered my own Power, so I have no idea about that."

"The Homesteading makes the Ogier, but the Ogier make the Homesteading." Damon's low voice drew a sharp glance from Anla, which he ignored. "Before we Translated here, this forest would have been but a mere shadow of what it is today." He stepped forward to stand alongside the Speaker, provoking a frown from her. "This power of yours... It sounds familiar to me for some reason. I would very much like to hear more about it."

"Later Damon," Anla interrupted sharply. "We have more important things with which to concern ourselves. The Stump must be assembled." The capital was evident to the humans.

"What's the Stump?" Eric asked, curiously, releasing the Power. Anla turned back to face him.

"There is no harm in you knowing, I suppose," she said. "The Stump is a meeting of the adults of the Homesteading. We call it to discuss matters of importance to the Ogier, such as your presence."

"Perhaps we could attend, to explain our side –" Eric began.

"You have to be over a hundred to address the Stump," Kiera interrupted scornfully. "Do you know any humans that old?"

"Actually, it's funny you should ask that," Guy replied with a wry smile.


	12. Into the Forest

The sun was low on the horizon when the Magister of the Conclave came within sight of the gate into the Homesteading. Although Guy's mental communication had been almost instantaneous, and Taryn had had nothing more important to deal with, his journey had taken some time. As well as changing into clothing more appropriate to meeting community leaders than his usual attire, he had chosen to teleport to a location out of sight of the gate and walk the rest of the way, for two reasons. The lesser was that he didn't think that appearing out of thin air would impress the Ogier any more than his son's mind blades had, but more importantly, he didn't want to risk teleporting too near the protective barrier around the forest. Unlike Darius, he had no way to precisely triangulate a landing spot beside the Soulknife, and since he had never been there before, his arrival point could deviate considerably from the one he desired.

The fading light obscured his features as he approached until he was a dozen yards from the hedge. The reactions of the two waiting Ogier when they saw him clearly were surprising and mixed. Kiera shouted a single, harsh word in her own tongue, raising her axe threateningly as she moved to protect Anla, who simply frowned deeply and took a single step back. Taryn stopped immediately and bowed low before addressing the Ogier.

"Good evening Speaker Anla. My name is Taryn Madoc, Magister Eternal of the Conclave of Psionicists. I mean no harm to you or your people, yet I sense a certain hostility from your companion. Might I enquire as to its source?"

Anla regarded him for a moment before stepping forward past Kiera, speaking a brief sentence in the Ogier language as she did so. The younger Ogier lowered her axe with obvious reluctance, but kept it ready to use should the need arise, as the Speaker addressed Taryn.

"My granddaughter sees another in your face," she stated. "The one who orphaned her and her brother with his black lightning."

"Black light–," Guy's surprised outburst was cut off by a curt gesture from his father. Anla didn't miss the exchange, her eyes narrowing as she continued.

"Darien Maddocks styled himself Eternal too, in his case an Emperor, but as I just told Kiera, this is a different world. You may be a different man, despite the similarity of name and title."

"The title was none of my choosing," Taryn responded, slowly approaching the gate. "It was given to me by one of the Conclave Councils when they appointed me to lead them. Against my better judgement, I might add. As for the name, time and usage has altered it to its present form. I've not been called Darien Maddocks for nearly three hundred years, and I haven't missed it."

"Which brings up the point I wanted to ask about."

"How have I lived so long?" Taryn anticipated. Anla nodded. "It's a Talent, much like Brigid's arrow." He briefly explained the rise of psionics and the nature of people's Talents. "Presumably my Longevity awakened after the Fall, just like everybody else's, but I didn't learn about it for over fifty years."

"You don't prolong your life by stealing that of others?" Anla's question was sharp and accusing.

"Not to my knowledge, no," Taryn replied. "I assume the Darien Maddocks of your world does, though. Does this black lightning you mentioned drain a person's energy, leaving behind nothing but dust?" The Speaker's reaction confirmed his suspicions.

"So you _**do**_ know it," she growled, taking a step back as Kiera's axe rose again.

"Better to say we know _**of **_it," Taryn stated calmly. "We encountered it five years ago." He gave a detailed account of what had happened at the Connor's farm, and the predictions Eric and the Seers had had regarding the Coming Storm. As he spoke, the sun set fully, and the twilight darkened into night. Eric and Anastacia used their Power to create balls of light to illuminate the area. The two Ogier gave them little more than a cursory glance.

"We've spent the past five years preparing for the Storm's return, while we try to locate the world he came from," Taryn concluded. "A mystery you might be able to help us solve, perhaps?"

"The Storm," Anla stated, hatred clearly evident in her voice. "A good name for him, He calls thunder and lightning to terrorise the people. He twists nature and kills his world. That's one of the reasons we left it."

"Will you be leaving this one, too?" Taryn asked, having noted her refusal to answer his previous question.

"That is what the Stump will decide," Anla replied. "I will allow you to speak if you will, but Ogier do not make hasty decisions. The choice to come here was made after many months of debate." She turned back toward the forest and called out a sentence in Ogier. A light appeared from within the trees as another Ogier emerged, carrying a hooded lantern, which he handed to Kiera. Anla turned back to Taryn. "Kiera will escort you to the lodge where I assume your people were planning to stay, and in the morning, she will bring you to the Stump. I bid you good night, Magister Taryn." With that, she headed into the darkness of the forest, the other Ogier following closely.

Kiera stepped back as the five humans passed through the gate, leading their horses carefully in the dim light of the lantern. The Power-channelled lights vanished abruptly as their creators passed the boundary of the Homesteading. When they were all through the gate, Kiera closed it, before setting off down a narrow trail, at a different angle from the path the Speaker had taken. For a minute or two, nobody spoke, until Kiera stopped and turned to the Psion walking beside her.

"She's just going to use you, you realise?" Taryn raised an eyebrow quizzically as she continued. "My grandmother's only letting you speak to support her argument. She'll use your resemblance to the Tyrant Emperor and the tale of your encounter to justify her assertion that this world is no safer than the last, and that we should flee once more."

"She may be right," Taryn replied quietly. "Some of the Seers' predictions are particularly dire. It may be safer for you to leave this world until it's all over."

"It doesn't work like that," Kiera laughed bitterly. "Besides, some of us are tired of running and hiding. Most of the children have known little else, but our views don't count, because we're not old enough to express them at the Stump."

"You're still considered a child?" Brigid asked curiously.

"For another two years, yes," the Ogier replied. "And if Grandmother has her way, we'll be worlds away by then." She resumed walking steadily along the path. "She's been trying to get us to leave ever since we discovered your people here. I think she wanted a world without humans, but the Book opened onto this one."

"What does she have against humans?" Anastacia asked. Kiera laughed out loud, as she looked back to the princess.

" 'Humans are the same whatever world they inhabit,' " she said, imitating the Speaker's clipped tones. " 'They destroy the land that nurtures them and care only for power, doing anything it takes to obtain it.' Her words exactly, although I've seen little in my life to counter them."

"They're true enough," Taryn nodded soberly, "to a point. I've seen it happen many times in my life, but there _**is**_ another side to humanity."

"Most humans just want to live in peace," Anastacia added quietly. "It's only a few that spoil it for the rest, but those are the ones that are always remembered."

"Is Anla likely to get what she wants?" Taryn asked Kiera.

"Probably," the Ogier replied. "She has a way of making people support her. Only the children and a few of the Elders will argue agianst her, but our voices won't count, and theirs are too few."

"A persuasive woman, then. That would explain her title," Taryn mused. Kiera laughed.

"She didn't earn that title by being eloquent," she explained. "That's what we call the one chosen to deal with the non-Ogier. She's the Speaker because she's the most human of us, and among Ogier, that's not considered a good thing. No offence intended."

"None taken," Taryn responded smoothly. "I know better than most what we're capable of." He said nothing for several paces, his head bowed in thought, before looking up to Kiera. "Tell me about the Book." Kiera faltered slightly before responding.

"I shouldn't have mentioned that," she said quietly.

"It's what the Ogier use to travel between worlds, isn't it? I'd like to know how it works."

"I'm not really allowed to talk about it," Kiera said uncertainly, tensing up. "Can we speak of something else?"

"Of course," Taryn replied smoothly. "Maybe you could tell me what to expect at the Stump."

Kiera relaxed, happy to discuss the conventions of the Ogier meeting, such as they were. By the time she finished, they had reached the Draken's hunting lodge, and its new owner had unlocked the door. Guy activated the psionic bulbs on the porch, the strange properties of the Homesteading dimming their usual brightness to a dull glow. As Taryn thanked the Ogier for the escort, the other four humans led their mounts round to the stable alongside the main building.

When they returned after taking care of the horses, Kiera had gone and a purple fire flickered fitfully in the lodge's bare stone hearth. After the events of the day, the two couples were in no mood to stay up talking, and headed off to their bedrooms. Taryn stayed awake in the main room, maintaining his psionic flames, considering all the information he had learned from the two Ogier, both spoken and unspoken.


	13. The Dragon

Kiera sat on the low stump, watching the flickering purple light cast by the psionic flame being maintained within the human dwelling. She's seen the one called Taryn summon it before she left for her own home, and Rafeal had said when she relieved him that it hadn't gone out as long as he'd been watching. She felt a little guilty at deceiving the Singer, but she hadn't been able to sleep properly with all the thoughts buzzing around her head. Pretending she'd been assigned to keep watch on the humans until the Stump began had seemed the best course of action. Here in the quiet solitude just before the dawn, she could concentrate on the thoughts that kept her awake.

The humans intrigued her. They were so unlike the ones she'd known from the old world, who'd been beaten down and enslaved for generations. They seemed so wonderfully free, and willing to talk without fear of reprisal or punishment. Eric in particular - there weren't many people in either world who would be so open and friendly with something they could never before have encountered - and Kiera had felt a kindred spirit in Brigid even before hearing about the death of the young woman's father. Yet it was Taryn who interested her the most. He looked so much like the man who had killed the Ogier's parents, and yet he seemed completely different in attitude. His eyes showed the long years he'd lived and the sadness he'd known, unlike the Tyrant's, which only showed that he survived, without the emotions that should accompany life. When describing the death of Brigid's father, a man he'd never even met, Taryn's eyes - his entire demeanour - showed a deep regret that he'd been unable to save the man who in all likelihood had already died by the time the Magister arrived at the Portal Stone.

Taryn was at least as powerful as his counterpart though. The psionic fire was clear evidence of that. He'd created it almost without thinking as he said good night to the Ogier, and it had heated the room enough for Kiera to feel it outside the door as she turned to leave. That had alarmed her so much that almost the first thing she did after reaching the settlement was to check that the Aegis was still active. The black Shadowfire that maintained it was still burning, low as it had been for many years, but it's decline had remained steady in this new world. The Aegis, though weaker than when the Homesteading had Translated to this world, was still strong, and yet Taryn had power over it, despite his claims that he didn't steal the strength of others….

He was almost certainly a Tangleweaver, too. Kiera hadn't the talent for feeling it, but nothing else would explain her willingness to open up on the walk to the lodge. If he'd pressed her about the Book of Translation, she probably would have told him everything she knew about it, which was more than most Ogier did, although not quite as much as Elder Damon, the Librarian. But the Magister hadn't pressed her. He'd changed the subject when she'd asked. The Tyrant wouldn't have done that, and he was likely a Tangleweaver as well. But which of the two was the stronger? Who would make the other one dance in their web? Kiera shook her head regretfully. She'd probably never know, being worlds away when the two finally confronted each other.

A movement at the lodge disturbed her thoughts. Looking across, she noticed Eric Draken exit the building and walk round the back, away from the stables. Curious, Kiera followed him to find him kneeling at the grave she'd found shortly after arriving on this world. She had no idea who had been buried there, as the headstone bore no name. Only the graven image of a sinuous, lizard-like creature with four clawed feet. Preoccupied by the grave, Eric didn't notice her until she was next to him, although she wasn't making any effort to be stealthy. He said nothing, but merely looked up and nodded in recognition, before returning his attention to the grave as Kiera knelt down beside him.

"Friend of yours?" she asked quietly.

"My uncle," he replied hesitantly. "I think."

"You think?"

"I never knew him. Didn't even know he'd existed until yesterday." He looked up at the Ogier. "My mother always used to come back here whenever we visited the lodge, but she never talked about it. When Stacy told me about my father's brother dying in this forest, I suddenly realised whose grave this must be. My uncle's."

I've been looking after it since I found it," Kiera said. "Somebody had to."

"Thank you," Eric smiled as he turned back to the grave.

"What's that creature on the headstone?" asked the Ogier. Eric looked up at it, frowning.

"I'm not sure," he replied. "The head looks a little like the dragon of my grandfather's crest, but the body shape is wrong, and there aren't any wings."

"It's an oriental dragon," Taryn's voice announced from behind the kneeling pair as he walked up to them. "A symbol of great power and wisdom. Erik thought it more appropriate to his ideals than his father's insignia, which was originally considered something of a menace."

"You knew my uncle?"

"I've known many of the nobles who have lived in the capital," the Psion replied, "but your uncle was also one of my students at the Conclave."

"Your student? I thought you didn't have time for teaching."

"Not recently, given all the war preparations," Taryn admitted, "but I've always made time for psionicists with Grandmaster potential." He knelt opposite Eric and traced the dragon on the headstone "Your uncle was the most talented Seer I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of them in my long life. He could easily have been the youngest member of the Council if he'd been permitted to join the Conclave."

"My grandfather wouldn't let him," the young channelled stated. Taryn nodded.

"As the eldest, Erik was the heir. Anton refused to let him step down in favour of your father. He wouldn't listen to his son's prediction that Miles, rather than Erik, would be the next Lord Draken. Not even after I'd made clear to him how accurate Erik's predictions were."

"If his predictions were so accurate, why didn't he see his own death?" Eric asked bitterly.

"Visions don't always come when invoked," Taryn replied. "Besides, who's to say he didn't see his death? Your uncle could see not just what would be, but also what _should_ be, which isn't the same thing, and is a very rare Talent indeed. It wouldn't surprise me to learn he'd predicted the Storm."

"You think he knew he was going to die that day?"

"It's possible he arranged for it to happen. After all, had he lived, many things would be different. For one thing, you wouldn't now be married to the one woman in the world whose Talent so perfectly complements your own."

"He died for me," Eric murmured.

"Not just for you. Everything he did was for the good of many. He'd have made a better Magister than I, if circumstances had allowed it."

"What was he like? As a person, I mean."

"I got to know him quite well during his time with me, although not as well as I'd have liked," Taryn admitted. "I remember he got on with almost everybody. He was strong-willed and determined, but he didn't like to see people suffer, which was unfortunate, given that most predictions tend to be unpleasant. Although maybe that's why he didn't like to see suffering. He may have been the greatest Seer who ever lived, but he never let it go to his head." The Psion glanced across to the headstone. "He exhibited many of the traits traditionally associated with that dragon: passion; loyalty; generosity; but also a fiery temper at times, although his outbursts rarely lasted long, and he was always quick to apologise afterward."

"Sounds like a man I could emulate," Eric mused.

"You're not that far off now," Taryn replied, "although I wouldn't recommend copying his temper. Your gift is a little more dangerous than his was if you lose control of it. Remember the barn?"

"It was only a small fire," Eric started.

"But a hot one. It took Ellen and I working in Metaconcert to extinguish it before it burned down the whole building, and you've become much stronger since then."

"True," the channelled conceded, "although when I grasp the Power, all my emotions seem to be shunted aside. That's the whole point of the Void, isn't it?"

"To a degree, yes. But the emotions are still there, and can still affect your actions, which is something you should keep in mind." The Magister stood and brushed the dirt from his clothes. "We should go back inside now. My son's been cooking breakfast, and it's probably nearly ready. You're welcome to join us Kiera, although you'll have to use one of the armchairs, since the others aren't exactly built for Ogier."

"I'd be surprised if they were," she replied, standing up, "and I confess that I am a little hungry, if there's food to spare."

"Plenty," Taryn said. "It may not be the most elaborate breakfast, but there's more than enough for the six of us." He led the Ogier away toward the front of the lodge, stopping at the corner to look back at the still kneeling noble. "Eric? Are you coming? From what Kiera's said about these meetings, you're going to need a good breakfast, even if you're not speaking."

"I'm coming," the channeller answered as he stood, brushing the dirt from his trousers before turning to Taryn. "I'm going to use this dragon as my signet. It looks better than my grandfather's, and from what you've said, it suits me better anyway."

"You know, I thought you might do that once you found out about it," the Psion replied, "and I suspect it's probably what your uncle would have wanted. Come, young Dragon. Let's tell the others about this."


	14. The Stump

It was midmorning when Kiera led the humans past the low hedge that marked the boundary of the Ogier dwellings. The dense woodland suddenly gave way to lush gardens surrounding wooden houses that appeared to have been grown rather than built. Gravel paths led winding routes through the melange of colourful blooms, seemingly at random. Ogier of all ages in bright clothing went about their business; tending gardens, hanging laundry, or simply travelling from one place to another, much as humans in any country village. A few stopped briefly to watch as the five humans were led down one of the larger paths into the heart of the village, but most ignored the party.

"Everyone knows you're attending the Stump," Kiera explained in response to Taryn's raised eyebrow, "but that's no excuse to neglect their chores." The Magister nodded approvingly. He hadn't spoken since leaving the hunting lodge, collecting his thoughts and preparing his oration.

"What about your chores?" Brigid asked. Kiera smiled

"I'm doing them," the Ogier replied. "I'm bringing you to Elder Damon and making sure you don't wander where you shouldn't."

"So where shouldn't we go?"

"Anywhere you haven't been invited, which basically means everywhere off the paths. We consider our privacy extremely important."

"I can understand that," the young archer responded. "We value it in the Conclave, too."

"Well you were right about the forest Eric," Guy said jokingly. "You really can hide a village in it." Eric smiled slightly.

"How many of your people live here, Kiera," the Channeller asked.

"Nearly five hundred," she replied, "most of them younger than I."

"Ogier have large families then, I take it?"

"Quite the opposite, actually." Kiera's reply was subdued and tinged with sadness. "Most of the children were sent here from other Homesteadings for their protection."

"So the barrier that restricts our powers isn't common to all Homesteadings, then?" Taryn asked unexpectedly. Kiera shook her head.

"The Aegis is unique to this one. I can explain that later if you're interested. For now though…."

The humans and their Ogier guide stepped through a ring of large trees into a circular clearing at least two hundred yards across. Rows of plain wooden benches ringed a huge tree stump in the centre of the clearing Several sets of steps allowed access to the flat upper surface, upon which stood a number of stools. Elder Damon stood at the base of the stump, quietly talking to a younger Ogier, who nodded and hurried away as the party approached.

"Elder Damon, I present Taryn Madoc, Magister Eternal of the Conclave of Psionicists," Kiera announced. The Elder regarded the named individual thoughtfully.

"Yes, you do greatly resemble the Tyrant Emperor," the murmured. "That will strengthen Anla's argument. This will likely be an unusually short Stump, unless…." He paused for a moment, before turning to Kiera. "You should attend, having been the first to make contact in this world, but we cannot leave the children unattended. Assemble them here in the clearing, while I talk to our guests."

Kiera opened her mouth to argue that there were other adolescents who were trusted to look after the younger children, but something in Damon's eye stopped her. Instead she nodded and left the clearing with a frown, trying to determine the Elder's intentions. Damon watched her go, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, then turned to the humans.

"The Stump will begin shortly," he stated. "Have you decided what you wish to say, Magister Taryn?"

"I have something prepared, although all I really need here is the knowledge of which world the Storm comes from."

"Well, that you will have regardless," Damon said. "As Librarian and Keeper of the Book of Translation, it is my decision whether to allow you to view the open pages. The purpose of this Stump is to decide if we should Turn it to the next one, thereby leaving this world."

"To be honest, I'd be tempted to support Speaker Anla on that, but something Kiera said implied it wouldn't be easy for you to return to this world."

"No, it wouldn't. Although we may look at previous pages, the Book Translates this Homesteading and all within only when the page Turns forward, and there is no way to know beforehand which world we will be moving to. It may be many pages before the Book returns us to this one, and we generally do not Turn them lightly. There are only a limited number of pages within the Book."

"Kiera wants to stay," Taryn stated.

"Better to say she does not wish to leave," Damon corrected. "She has her reasons."

"Her parents," the Psion deduced. Damon's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You **_are_ **powerful," the Ogier murmured. "She wouldn't have told a stranger about them."

"Actually Anla did, when we spoke last night. I also noted Kiera's reaction when she first saw me clearly. I think she'd like to see the Storm dead."

"Very probably. Ah, here come the Elders now." Damon gestured past the Psion toward several Ogier entering the clearing. Anla followed close behind them, fingering an ornate scroll-shaped brooch on her collar. "You and I should ascend the stump. Your companions may sit where they will." With that, he turned and climbed the nearest steps with surprising agility considering his bad leg. By the time Taryn reached the top of the stump, the Elder was sitting on the centre stool, holding his staff upright beside him.

"I've had a child's stool brought up for you," he indicated a smaller one near the edge. "I thought it would be easier for you than trying to climb onto a full-size one." Taryn nodded his thanks as he sat down. The other humans settled on the lower benches nearest the stump.

After Anla and the other Elders had taken their seats, the benches in the clearing began to fill with Ogier. Taryn focused his attention on the individuals on the stump. Because he was looking her way, he noticed Anla's surprise as Kiera led the children into the clearing toward the front benches. The Speaker leaned over to ask Damon something. His answer didn't seem to please her, but she let it pass as Damon stood and looked out over the clearing.

"Is everybody here?" He directed the question quite clearly at Kiera, who was getting the smaller children settled on the floor before the front row. She frowned slightly at the obvious emphasis on the middle word, but nodded in response as she sat down. "Then we shall begin," The Elder turned and nodded to Anla before sitting.

The Speaker stood and began by immediately introducing Taryn and asking him to recount the details of the Storm's attack at the Portal Stone. Kiera paid little attention, having heard the story before. Only when the human had finished and Anla began talking again did she notice Damon looking across at her oddly. Evidently he expected something of her, but the young Ogier was unable to work out what.

Several Ogier in the benches stood to debate a point with Anla, but were quickly talked down by the forceful Speaker as she continued her explanations. As she was winding up her speech, preparing to call for a decision, Kiera suddenly recalled a fact that Damon had once mentioned when she had been younger than Morrid. Something so obscure that it had happened only once in thousands of years of recorded Ogier history. She looked around the clearing, a confident smile spreading across her face. Then stood up.

Her grandmother noticed her almost immediately, stopping mid-sentence to turn to the younger Ogier. "Sit down Kiera. You're only ninety-eight. You have no right to address the Stump." Anla paused, trying to recall where she had left off when Kiera spoke up loudly.

"Don't I, Speaker? Look around." She gestured toward the Ogier sitting on the benches. "Every Ogier living in this world is present in this clearing. That makes this not a Great Stump, but a Grand Stump, at which any Ogier may speak, regardless of age."

Kiera's announcement provoked a commotion from the Ogier on the benches, while most of the Elders turned toward Damon, who smiled proudly as he nodded to the young Ogier.

"Kiera, daughter of Marith is correct." His voice carried clearly to the edges of the clearing. "The forms are quite clear on that, even though this is only the second Grand Stump in our history."

Anla stood speechless for several moments before rounding on Damon. The Elder didn't wait for her to speak.

"I didn't tell Kiera this was a Grand Stump," he said calmly. "She deduced that on her own."

"But you arranged it," Anla accused, "by having her bring them here." She pointed back to the Ogier children surrounding Kiera. Damon nodded as he stood to look the Speaker in the eye.

"Of course I did. As I told you earlier, this concerns them more than us. I felt they deserved a voice, and as Keeper of the Book, I am forbidden to express a personal opinion regarding Translation. So I decided to create a situation where they could speak for themselves, as I believe Kiera is about to." He sat down and nodded to the young Ogier, who had decided it would be best to keep things simple.

"I don't want to keep running," she began, "nor do any of the other children. Especially those old enough to remember life before coming to this Homesteading. I don't think it would truly help in the long run anyway. You've said today you think the Tyrant followed us, seeking the secrets of our Singing. That may be true, but this world has something that will hold his attention." She pointed to the four humans sitting apart from the Ogier. "Power. We know from Taryn's account and the tales of the Valereans that the Tyrant drains psionic energies. This world is filled with them. Nearly everybody has Talent of some kind. Magister Taryn," she turned to the lone human on the stump, "how many Talented humans live in this world?"

The Psion stood and stepped forward. "There hasn't been an accurate global census since before the Fall, but I'd estimate the Talented population at maybe seven hundred million, mostly single- or dual-Talents."

"How many with your level of power ?" Anla asked. Taryn turned to face the Speaker.

"One. Me." Taryn smiled and raised a hand to forestall her response. "I know. You meant psionicists, but trust me, they wouldn't be able to stand up to the Storm for long in anything less than a full Metaconcert, and there simply aren't enough trained Psions to maintain a twenty-four hour combat readiness for everyone."

"If the Tyrant followed us here, he can follow us anywhere," Kiera stated. "If he wins through on this world, he will become far too powerful for us to ever stop. We'd have to keep running until the last page of the Book, and then, with nowhere left to go, we would all die."

"The Aegis –" Anla started, but her granddaughter interrupted her.

"– is failing. In the years since Morrid and I came to live here, the Shadowfire has halved in intensity. It will die completely within my lifetime, as you well know, since it was integral to your argument that we translate to this world." Kiera stepped out from the children toward the stump and turned to address the other Ogier. "We cannot keep running forever, so we should make a stand here, alongside these humans who are already preparing to defend their world from a threat they know little about. Who will stand with me?"

Morrid was the first to his feet, followed rapidly by the other Ogier children. As the older Ogier started to rise, Kiera turned to face Anla. The Speaker gazed back with a resigned look on her face, before taking off the scroll brooch and descending the steps to stand by her granddaughter. Without a word, she pinned the brooch onto Kiera's coat and walked slowly out of the clearing. The Elders on the stump behind her stood in unison, last of the Ogier to do so, but Kiera didn't notice as she stared mournfully at the ornate brooch on her lapel.


	15. Artefacts and Explanations

"This is it," Kiera announced as she opened the plain wooden door. "The chamber of the Shadowfire, and the source of the Aegis."

The five humans stepped into a large circular room which, like every other structure in the Ogier village, was formed of living wood, grown into shape by Ogier Singers. Sparse bookshelves lined the walls – the only furnishings other than the large chalice-shaped block of amethyst dominating the centre of the room. A full four feet high and two across its diameter, yet surprisingly empty. Black flames flickered fitfully just above the rim, casting strange shadows about the room.

"Incredible," Taryn whispered as he approached the Shadowfire. "A null-psionics field covering the entire forest, yet it seems to have a psionic energy signature. How is that possible?"

"Don't ask me," Kiera shrugged her shoulders as she replied. "No Ogier has ever been able to figure out how it works. Or if they did, they didn't record it here." She gestured to the books on the shelves by the door.

"Your people didn't create it?" The Ogier shook her head.

"It was a human who gave us the Shadowfire, about twenty-five centuries ago. A man named Iasu Valere. First of the Valereans." Her voice was tinged with sorrow and regret.

"You mentioned Valereans at the Stump," Taryn mused. "Who were they?"

"Who are they, you mean," Kiera replied. "They still exist, so far as we know, enslaved by the Tyrant you call the Storm, despite their powers."

"Strong powers?" Kiera nodded.

"They call it Earthpower. Supposedly it taps into the strength of the planet itself. Were they of a mind, they could easily reshape the landscape, but they choose not to use their gifts in that way, following the teachings of Iasu Valere."

"A man of peace, I take it."

"Very much so," Elder Damon stated from the doorway. "Our records state that he believed there was never any justification for violence. Better to die than to raise your hand against another. He greatly impressed the Elders of his day. They had never met any human whose beliefs so closely matched their own."

"We didn't need the Aegis when he created it," Kiera said. "There weren't any psionic powers then, as you would understand them, but Iasu Valere foretold that it would one day be needed to safeguard the future of our people."

"And it has done exactly that," Damon continued, "by protecting our children from the Tyrant's reach."

"You said twenty-five centuries ago," Taryn mused. Kiera nodded. "We had a similar man in our world back then, who preached peace and friendship between all people. Even the name is close..."

"What happened to him?" Kiera asked, as the Magister trailed off. Taryn looked up at her.

"People didn't listen. He was tortured and killed. Centuries later his teachings were misinterpreted or deliberately twisted to justify all manner of conflicts and atrocities, like the Inquisition."

"The Inquisition?"

"Ancient history, even when I was born," Taryn replied. "Nothing to be concerned with now."

"Those who forget the past risk duplicating it," Damon intoned in a low voice. "An old saying among the Ogier."

"Humans have a similar one, yet we still persist in forgetting the lessons of history. As a race, we have a depressing tendency to ignore things which upset or embarrass us, no matter how important is might be." Taryn turned back to the fire burning in the stone chalice. "I assume it used to be larger at one time. The Shadowfire, I mean."

"Once it filled the chalice and reached up to touch the ceiling," Kiera replied, "but it hasn't burned that strong for hundreds of years. As I said at the Stump, it's halved its height since I came to live here fifteen years ago. Unless we can find a way to re-kindle it, it will die in as many years, leaving us defenceless."

"I wish I could help you there. As it is, by the time I'm able to study it with my psionics, it will likely be too late, unless..."

"Unless?"

"If the Valereans still exist, I might be able to learn something of their Earthpower from them."

"I'm afraid we can't be much help with that," Damon said. "Our last contact with a Valerean was nearly fifty years ago, and we've never known much about them or where they lived. I can provide you with everything I have regarding them, if you wish." Taryn nodded, and was about to say something more when they were interrupted by a knock on the open door . A young Ogier in a plain blue dress stood just outside the Chamber.

"You wanted to speak with me, Speaker Kiera?" she asked hesitantly. Kiera grimaced slightly before beckoning the new arrival into the room.

"This doesn't concern us," Damon murmured. "Come. I'll show you the Book of Translation, so you may attempt to learn where the Storm comes from." He gestured for the humans to precede him from the room, before following them.

"Kiera's Speaker now?" Brigid asked. "When did that happen?"

"Probably when Anla gave her that brooch at the Stump," Stacy replied. "I wondered about it at the time, since it seemed to upset her so much, but I didn't want to ask."

"Indeed," confirmed Damon as he led the humans to a larger building. "Although as I understand, Anla intended to relinquish her position to her grand-daughter anyway. Kiera's success at the Stump merely caused her to do so earlier than she'd planned. You are perceptive to have noticed the exchange."

"Comes from growing up in a palace," the princess commented absently. "What you don't notice could kill you quicker than you can blink."

"It can't be that bad, surely?" the Ogier asked.

"Close enough," Anastacia answered, "especially since a fair few of the nastier powers are almost undetectable until it's too late."

"Most of the Telepathic powers have no external visible effect," confirmed Taryn. "Only the results can be seen, and if the Telepath is clever, even they can be overlooked. That's one reason we try to get most Telepaths in the Conclave, although there are a few exceptions, which we keep a close watch on."

"Disturbing," muttered Damon.

"Indeed. Psionicists are resistant to telepathic intrusions though, and there are more anti-Telepath talismans than any other psionic artefact, but those with wealth or influence still have to remain vigilant."

"It seems humans are the same whatever world you live on. Anyway, here we are." Damon pushed open a pair of double-doors into an immense room filled with bookshelves. "This is my Library. Well, part of it at least. Most of our books are stored safely elsewhere. These ones you see are still being catalogued following our Translation."

The books in question filled every shelf and were piled high on numerous tables spaced around the room. Four of the five humans stared in wonder at more books than they'd ever seen in their lifetimes. Only Taryn seemed unfazed by the sight.

"How many…?" Guy started.

"Around twelve thousand, although I don't recall the exact figure," Damon replied. "I have it written down somewhere, though."

"And you say most of your books are elsewhere?"

"Ogier are prolific writers, and our culture has existed for many thousands of years. Most of the other Homesteadings sent their individual libraries to be protected by the Aegis along with their children."

"Hence the need for cataloguing them," Taryn concluded.

"Indeed. The Book of Translation is through here." He led them to a door in the back wall which opened onto a smaller room, bare but for a tall lectern, upon which rested a large leather-bound book roughly two feet square, and eight inches thick. Although it was closed, a thick ribbon marked a page approximately a third of the way through. Damon picked up a low stool from the main library as he walked up to the Ogier-sized lectern and placed it on the floor, beckoning for Taryn to join him.

"I'm not sure how much this will actually help you," he said, opening the book to the ribbon. "The Book uses symbols to represent the worlds which you might not be able to decipher."

"I don't think there's a danger of that," Taryn said, stepping up and looking at the symbol that dominated the right-hand page. "This symbol's on most of the Portal Stones we've created. It's the one that brings people back here to this world." He held his hand over the page and closed his eyes.

"Quite a coincidence," Damon murmured. Taryn opened his eyes and smiled.

"I doubt it. This is a psionic artefact, just like the Stones, but older."

"Much older," the Elder confirmed. "I could calculate exactly old if you're interested." He indicated the elegant cursive writing on the left page. "Whenever we Translate, the Keeper records how much time we have spent in each world. I wasn't looking forward to making a second entry in my lifetime, although I wouldn't have been the first Keeper to do so."

"How does it work? Do you just turn the page forward, or is there more to it?"

"There's more to it. A Song that must be sung which Turns the Page automatically. Without the Song, the Page doesn't move. Try it for yourself." He stepped back to give Taryn room. The Psion reached over to slip his finger under the page, but the edge seemed to be a solid seamless block, as though the pages were glued together. Bringing his hand back, he lifted a few of the previous pages with ease, flicking them separately back into place.

"Magnificent. Whoever created this was a genius."

"A human again," Damon said. "Ogier have never had any talent with anything but Singing, and we know for certain that isn't related to your psionics."

"Do you know anything about him? Or her?"

"Him, and we know very little, I'm afraid. More due to his secrecy than any loss of records. He called himself as the Sorcerer, although his companion once referred to him as the Immortal. As well as creating the Book, he is also generally credited with teaching the Ogier to Sing, although Halla, daughter of Foriah theorised that Ogier could already Sing, and that the Book was created with our Talent in mind, rather than the reverse." Damon turned back to the previous page of the Book. "Anyway this is what you're here to learn. The symbol for our previous world. The world of the Storm."

Taryn looked at the page before pulling a small notepad and pencil from a pocket. Carefully he traced the symbol onto the paper before putting it away. He was about to put the pencil away too, when he noticed Damon's interest in it. With a smile, he passed it to the Ogier.

"It's a pencil. Something from before the Fall that I recreated," he said. "We can't mass produce them like we used to, but the Kineticists can make enough for the Conclave's use." The Ogier studied the pencil intently.

"Some form of charcoal, yes? I assume you use psionics to burn just the inner part, leaving the outer wood untouched?"

"It's a little more complicated than that. The inner cylinder is a form of coal that used to be called graphite, from a word meaning writing. It's transmuted from the wood by a Kineticist, which is neither an easy process nor a fast one. But the benefits outweigh the drawbacks."

"The benefits being?"

"It doesn't blot like ink, for one. And with the right material you can easily erase the marks if you make a mistake."

"I see," Damon passed the pencil back to Taryn. "I think I'll stick with ink, though."

Taryn stepped down from the stool and bowed to the Ogier. "Thank you for letting me see the Book. I'm sure one of our Portal Stones will have that address. If not, we can add it to one of them easily enough."

"I'm glad to be of service," Damon bowed in return.

"Much as I'd like to stay and chat, this information needs to get back to the Conclave as soon as possible. I'll come back for information on the Valereans later."

"I understand. You will be welcome whenever you return. I'll arrange an escort to the forest boundary for you."

"Not necessary, but thank you for the offer." With that, Taryn closed his eyes, focused his mind, and teleported halfway across the country, leaving the Ogier Elder staring open-mouthed and the spot he'd just vacated.


	16. The War Begins

"Sorry I'm late," Ellen Morello said as she entered the study, "but it's been a busy morning. We lost another Channeller. Well, two if you count Angela. If I ever find out who gave her a glass mirror…." She trailed off as she collapsed into the chair opposite Rogan. "Oh well, it's too late to help her now. Or Marcus."

"What happened?" Miles Draken asked. Ellen turned to where he stood by the fireplace.

"Your son calls it overchannelling," she began. "Unlike psionics, it's possible for a Channeller to draw more power than their body can safely handle. When not immediately fatal, it can destroy the connection they have to their power source, which is just as lethal in its own way. Without the ability to channel, they simply lose the will to live. A few, like Angela, actively seek to end their lives, but the rest just seem to waste away no matter what we try to do for them."

"The Egoists can't help?"

"They can't even detect that there's anything wrong," Ellen replied. "Nor can the Telepaths. Only Grandfather's Psychic Surgery can sense a problem. He describes it as feeling something severed, but he can't repair the damage since it's not actually in their minds. All we can do is make sure they're safe and comfortable until the end."

"Maybe Eric could…," Miles began.

"Eric's part of the problem," Ellen interrupted angrily. "Not deliberately mind, but the other students look at him and Stacy, and what they can do, and try to imitate them. They forget or ignore the fact that our children have been channelling far longer than they have, and that they were stronger anyway at that stage in their training." She reached forward to pour herself a glass of wine and downed most of it in one gulp. "I only hope this morning's events will teach the other students to slow down. We've lost too many Channellers over the years. Thirty-two to overchannelling, and Grace knows how many due to lack of training before we could locate them."

"Sophie Martel," Rogan murmured. Ellen nodded, then noticed the quizzical look on Lord Draken's face.

"Lady Cynthia Martel's eldest daughter," she explained. "She was disowned six years ago for lack of psionic Talent and then simply vanished from the capital. When we finally managed to track her down, she had already died of a strange fever. The Egoist who treated her couldn't do anything to help. He said she seemed to have just burned through her life. When we asked around, it was evident that she had begun channelling unconsciously some time before the end, and without any training, the power killed her."

"I see. Different to psionics, it seems," Miles commented. Ellen nodded.

"Very," she replied. "Fortunately that sort of thing doesn't happen very often any more, thanks to the Conclave's information campaign, and the growing expertise of their Seekers. Although quite frankly, despite their experience, the Seekers aren't nearly as effective at finding potential Channellers as our current group of students."

"Oh?"

"The women can sense each other's ability at close range with enough sensitivity to gauge relative strength. But the men…. Well, Eric discovered a long time ago that he gets goosebumps whenever a woman channels near him, and the other men do too, so we've been using that as a form of test."

"Hardly an efficient one," Miles commented dryly.

"I know," Ellen replied, "but before he died, Marcus was working on a more conclusive way of identifying Channellers. I've no idea how far he got, or if he bothered to tell anyone what he'd developed, but I'll be asking about that when I get back to the school." She refilled her glass and took a small sip. "So what have I missed? Anything important?"

"We were discussing the Ogier," announced the third man in the room. A tall, heavily-muscled man, Peregrine Mortimer was the Marshal-General of Britain's army. "It troubles me that we know practically nothing about them, and yet the Magister's entered their domain alone and unarmed. Or near enough."

"Guy's message indicated no apparent hostility," Ellen began.

"None that he could detect," Miles countered. "He's not a Telepath, and even if he were, that field around the forest blocks psionics."

"I believe 'weakened' was the word he used," Ellen said calmly.

"There's a difference?"

"Certainly. For all his skill, Guy's little more than a Natural Talent, with no more raw psychic strength than Peregrine here. As psionicists, you and I can marshal far more power than he ever could. And as for Grandfather…." She laughed, shaking her head briefly. "You've never tried to pit your powers against his, have you Miles?"

"I've never had reason to. Why?"

"Because if you had," she replied, "you'd realise he's far stronger than both of us together. You may be a Grandmaster Telepath, but next to him, you're barely a Journeyman. He's capable of incredible feats if necessary, such as harnessing the strength of his subconscious mind and focusing all that energy into a single discipline, or even just a single power. Whatever force protects that forest won't be much of a barrier to him if he has any time at all to prepare."

Miles glanced across to Rogan, who was nodding unconsciously, before draining his glass.

"Be that as it may, I'm still worried about them. And not because they're on my family estates."

"Well there's not much we can do about them until we hear from Taryn," Rogan stated, "although from Guy's report, they have little reason to ally with the Storm."

"They may not have a choice," Miles countered. "I myself know a dozen different ways to control or influence people. Who can say what the Storm knows?"

"I'm sure Taryn's considered that, Miles," Rogan began, stopping as a clear chime rang out from the wolf-headed torc around Peregrine's neck. Its amber eyes glowed as the general responded to the telepathic call. The others waited patiently for him to finish.

"Well?" Rogan asked as the golden glow faded.

"It's starting." The general had no need to elaborate. They'd spent five years preparing for this moment. "Multiple strikes worldwide. Over a dozen. Ours is the Wessex Stone. The Third regiment's already mobilising." He put his drink down and stood up. "With your permission Sire, I'd like to lead this one myself."

"We both will," Rogan said, draining his glass as he stood. Peregrine hesitated before clearing his throat.

"Sire, I don't think…," he began, as Miles spoke up bluntly.

"You're staying here, Rogan." The general bowed slightly and ceded the discussion to the higher-ranked noble, relieved that the Telepath had voiced what he had been planning to put a little more diplomatically.

"Miles…," Rogan began, but Draken interrupted harshly.

"You want to be seen leading the war, I get that, but this is not the time. We have no idea what we're up against in either numbers or powers, and we all know your Talents aren't exactly martial. They'll be no use on a battlefield."

"I can't just sit here and do nothing!"

"Yes you can, and will. There will be other battles for you once we know the enemy better. But right now, we can't risk losing you to a stray shot we couldn't expect. I'll go in your stead. I've commanded troops before, and I can keep them coordinated through a Mindlink."

"I thought the Conclave Metaconcert would be doing that."

"Hardly," Miles laughed coldly. "That'll be made of just psionicists, focusing on threats of power. They won't consider including the ranks of Natural Talents or Lost. In any case, none of their Telepaths has the training or experience at mass Mindlinking that I do."

"He's right," Ellen commented quietly. "The only other person in the country who could pull off something like that is … out of touch right now."

"Use that Truthear of yours, Rogan," Miles continued. "You need me out there instead of you to keep the troops focused and unified, and to help minimise their losses. This battle's just the start, and you're not expendable."

"And you are?" countered the king.

"More than you, but don't worry. I'm not planning to sacrifice myself any time soon." _Although I'll have to one day, according to Erik_, Miles thought to himself.

Rogan hesitated just a few moments before nodding and waving a hand toward the door. "Grace favour you both, then." The other two men rapidly left the room as the king turned to his mistress.

"I really hate it when that man's right," he complained. Ellen stood and walked up to him.

"Be grateful he's never wanted your throne for himself," she said softly. "He wasn't lying about being able to control people, and my telepathic abilities don't even come close to his."

"There are times I regret not being a full psionicist. Most of the time, actually." He set his empty glass on the table and turned to the door. "I'm going to the War Room. If I can't lead the action, then by Grace I can at least follow it. Do you want to join me?" Ellen shook her head.

"I need to get back to the school. There are other matters to deal with, and I'd rather not learn about more deaths today." She kissed him tenderly as she left the study.

By the time Rogan reached the War Room, most of the command staff were gathered around a large table, projected upon which was a map of the world. Several glowing red points indicated the enemy incursions. His entrance went unnoticed until he asked General McNamara for a report.

"Seventeen incursion points, Sire," the general replied. "Four in Europe, including Wessex; Five in the Americas; three in Africa; one each in Australis, Nippon, Indus, Chin and Siberia, although Siberia's been dealt with."

"Already?" Rogan couldn't hide his disbelief.

"As soon as the enemy army was through, the Cossacks detonated their Stone." McNamara shrugged his shoulders. "It's no big loss. Not like there was anybody living near it any more."

"Surely somebody needed to be close in order to…."

"I'm sure he'll be greatly honoured, whoever he was."

"Oh. What about the others?"

"The Samurai have engaged the enemy near Kyoto, as have the Khalsa in Delhi, although it's too soon to know how their battles fare. Chin is a problem, though. There are thousands of enemy troops there already, and more are coming through as we speak."

"Taryn warned us that there might be more attacking Chin than anywhere else."

"No kidding!" the general exclaimed. "There are currently more there than in all of Europe combined. Chin doesn't have the manpower to stand up to even a tenth of what's already there for long. They're lucky there's only the one Stone in the whole of their nation…." He broke off as the red light representing the Chin stone flared and vanished. "Make that none. They just blew their Stone too." The room fell silent at that dire pronouncement.

"Wasn't the Chin Stone in the middle of their capital city?" Rogan asked, already knowing the answer, but fearing that if he didn't ask, then somebody else would.

"Yes. It was." The general's reply, though quiet, seemed to echo around the large room.

"Tell me they'd already evacuated before they detonated their Stone."

"I wish I could lie to you Sire, and say they had. But no. Chin as a nation is finished. All that remains are villages and farms with no central government to hold them together."

"The only good thing about that is that we no longer need to worry about that army," one of the admirals murmured, "but is that worth the price?"

"Taryn told me we might lose Chin," Rogan stated a lot more calmly than he felt inside. "We kept it to ourselves because we didn't want to cause panic. It was one of the least populated nations in the world, but before the Fall, it was quite the opposite, and there was never any reason to suspect the Fall happened on the Storm's world the way it happened here. If at all. What about the other incursions? Australis?"

"Well in hand. Their Dreamshapers have called up Nightmares. I almost feel sorry for the invaders there. Almost."

"What of the west?"

"Africa's fighting back with Talent, much like Australis. The defenders in Europe are still mustering, as are we. As for the Americas… well, you know them. We'll not know anything until they're done. Or done for."

"Focus the table on Wessex. I want to follow what our people are doing."

"As you command, Sire," General McNamara nodded to the psionicists at the far end of the room, and the image on the table shimmered and changed, creating a translucent, three-dimensional display of the Wessex Portal Stone and the surrounding area. Red dots marked the enemy troops around the Stone. As they watched, blue lights appeared in ranks along one edge and the defending army were transported to the battlefield. Rogan found a chair and settled down to watch the unfolding events.


	17. The Battle of Wessex

It took Miles just a few heartbeats to open a Dimensional Door from the corridor to the palace Portal Room, and only a fraction longer on the other side to locate the Gateway which connected to the Third Regiment's barracks in Wessex. Glancing back to confirm that Peregrine had followed him, he dispelled his Door and stepped into the swirling vortex of psionic energy that transported him across the country. Shaking his head to clear the disorientation inevitably caused by the Transit Gateways, he stepped aside to wait for the general. More accustomed to travel via the Gateways, Peregrine recovered quicker than the Telepath, striding confidently out to the main courtyard. Rows of troops snapped to attention as he sought out the regiment's commanding officer.

"What's the situation, Anderson?"

"Enemy troops outnumber us nearly five to one, but they seem to have all arrived. They've begun fortifying the area around the Stone."

"Their composition?"

"Heavy infantry, for the most part," the Lieutenant Colonel replied, "armed with melee weapons. There's also a unit of light infantry with bows, and a dozen mounted on some kind of great cat."

"Cats?" Peregrine asked. Anderson nodded.

"From what we can see from here, the cats seem to be wearing some kind of heavy armour, as are their riders. Some of the light infantry have scattered out beyond their earthworks, so they're likely the scouts, but the cat riders are clustered together near the Stone."

"Command group," Miles stated, coming to stand beside the general, "or artillery, like the Conclave Metaconcert." Peregrine nodded in agreement.

"We'll have to watch out for them, then." He surveyed the troops lined up before him. "Best to strike before they're fully dug in. Time to do your thing, Miles. Are you sure you can Mindlink seven hundred people?"

"No," replied the Telepath. "I only intended to Link the officers and squad leaders anyway. I just need to know who they are." He turned to address Anderson. "With your permission, Lieutenant Colonel, I think a Probe is the most efficient way to learn what I need."

After a brief glance at Peregrine for confirmation, Anderson nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating on what Miles wanted to know. As the Telepath began his Probe, he heard Peregrine addressing the troops, letting them know what to expect. By the time he had finished, Miles knew not only the identities of every ranked individual in the courtyard, but also their Talents and those of their subordinates. Pausing a moment to process the information, he turned to Peregrine as he prepared for the Masslink.

"I'll need one of the Farseers," he said quietly.

"Why?" Peregrine asked. "You'll be on the Command Vehicle with us. The tactical display..."

"Won't be enough," interrupted Miles. "I'd prefer to view the action with my own eyes, but with the Masslink active, I won't have the strength to spare for Farsight. However, I can maintain a Sight Link with a Farseer, as long as he can follow my orders."

"We've got reserves on board the CV," Anderson stated. "I'll have one of them assigned to you." He nodded to the RSM beside him, who briefly touched the command pendant worn by all officers in the regiment as he relayed the order.

After a few minutes, Miles stepped back and nodded to Peregrine. The general turned to Anderson.

"Then let's get started. Deployment pattern Charlie" As he spoke, the amber eyes of his red gold torc glowed gold and a Dimensional Door flashed into existence beside him. He gestured for Miles to precede him into the Command Vehicle as a dozen large portals materialised among the ranked troops. The courtyard emptied in moments, the portals closing before Anderson's aide had followed his commanding officer through Peregrine's Door. As it closed, Anderson gave the order to launch.

The large hawk-shaped aircraft spread elegant bronze wings and raised its head as a shimmering field surrounded it. Then, with a silver flash, it vanished, teleporting directly above the Stone some ten miles away, pulling its legs up close to its body. The only indications inside the aircraft that anything had happened were a brief vibration and, for those who could sense it, the sharp buzz of a massive psionic expenditure. Having never been aboard a Hawkwing-class Command Flyer before, Miles looked around, idly wondering where to stand.

The long, narrow chamber that comprised most of the body was dominated by the low platform that mounted the three-dimensional tactical display generated by a Shaper at each end. Telepaths next to them Linked then to Farseers on an observation deck below. Along the walls, several crewmen sat with eyes closed, monitoring the field that kept the bronze bird in the air and protected it from harm. A chair on each side was mounted before a control panel. Gemstone controls on the panel framed a smaller, more focused version of the main tactical display. A similar terminal, on a swivel mounting, could be seen through an open door at one end of the room. At the other end, a closed door labelled 'Bridge' indicated the front of the avian vehicle.

Peregrine and Anderson were standing opposite each other examining the glowing image on the tactical display. Before Miles could join the general, Anderson's aide stepped up with a young man that the Telepath found oddly familiar, although he knew he'd never met him.

"Your Farseer, my Lord," he stated simply, before taking his place beside Anderson. Miles looked at the chevrons on the young man's sleeve before addressing him.

"What's your name, Sergeant?" he asked, somewhat irritated that the flyer's staff hadn't been part of the information he'd Probed from Anderson.

"Mackenzie Connor, my Lord." Miles nodded in sudden recognition.

"Brigid's brother." Mac nodded as he continued. "It's a shame she's not here. She's a good archer. We could use more like her."

"She always says there aren't any more like her, my Lord," Mac commented, provoking a wry smile from the Telepath.

"Sir will do for now, Sergeant. You've been part of a Sight Link." It wasn't a question, but Mac nodded anyway.

"Yes sir. All Farseers take turns in the Tactical Link." He gestured to the display table before closing his eyes, until he felt the familiar tingle of Contact.

"Done. Now get to the observation deck and Look at those cat riders." Mac hurried to the hole in the floor that the display had hidden from Miles' view. The Telepath pulled a black eye patch from a pocket and put it over his left eye as he joined Peregrine at the table. "I never said I wouldn't be using the display," he said in response to a quizzical look from the general. "What's my place in the command structure?"

"Emergency communications," Peregrine replied. "We can use command pendants for most of it, but if you seem something that needs immediate attention, don't wait for my order. Which reminds me..." He handed Miles a plain pendant. "You'll need this to talk to the Conclave's people."

Miles nodded, activating the Sight Link with Mac. Thanks to years of practice, he was able to quickly filter the Farseer's vision out of his uncovered eye – a trick few Telepaths could master – and faced the tactical display. Through his left eye, he regarded the cat riders in the centre of the enemy. They were wearing bright chain mail and dark purple tabards. Most possessed light curved swords, but three wielded plain batons. They were the ones to watch out for, almost certainly. The cats were more interesting to Miles. What had been thought of as shining armour was actually reptilian scales overlaid with a shimmering aura. Telling Mac to Look closer, he saw they had six claws on each paw, and not two, but three eyes, gleaming with malevolent intelligence. He briefly relayed this information to Peregrine, who frowned.

"Interesting. Divergent evolution, or deliberate Shaping? That shimmer's obviously some kind of Inertial Armour, though. That might make it hard for the troops to hit them."

"That's what I thought too," Miles replied. "Odd that it doesn't cover the riders, although I suppose they've got their own protection with that mail."

As he watched, the invaders formed up quickly as they saw the Third Regiment spaced out around them. The archers formed a circle around three of the cat riders – the ones with batons– while the rest of the cat riders split up and led the enemy troops charging toward the British lines. Despite being heavily outnumbered, the defenders still had a significant advantage. Nearly half possessed Natural Talents or _dorjes_ that could strike from a distance and all were equipped with psionically empowered armour and melee weapons. Nomads within each unit would allow them to re-deploy as necessary, and the Conclave Metaconcert stood ready to support from their Shrike-class flyer circling the battlefield.

The first volley of psionic attacks targeted the archers, wiping out all but a few of them. Subsequent volleys reduced the attackers to two thirds their original numbers, killing one of the cats and its rider, before they reached the waiting psychic warriors. That was when the battle plan started to fall apart. Even outnumbered three to one, the elite troops with their superior equipment should have had little trouble resisting the assault. Instead most were pressed back, seemingly unable to bring themselves to even strike at the enemy. Only the officers and most of the Second Company seemed immune, although Miles was at a loss to explain why at first, until he realised what made the officers different to even the squad leaders, who were similarly affected by this strange aversion.

The command pendants, in addition to communication devices, also protected the wearer from certain forms of attack, namely telepathic control. A Look across the lines showed why Second Company was unaffected. The eight cat riders who had survived the charge were holding back from the bulk of the fighting. They struck out at anyone who managed to get within range, but didn't press their attacks. The Second Company had no cat rider opposing them. As Miles came to this conclusion, he 'heard' Peregrine telepathically order the Conclave to neutralize the riders. Their Metaconcert combined with multiple Farseers allowed them to target the enemy with greater accuracy than the troops on the ground.

Putting the forward cat riders out of his mind, Miles focused on the ones near the Portal Stone. All three had dismounted and stood in the centre of a triangle formed by their cats. Their batons now glowed with a shimmering light that formed ghostly blades at their ends. Two now bore large battleaxes while the third wielded a short glaive. All three men faced inward, and seemed to be chanting in unison, although Miles couldn't decipher what they were saying, despite his skill at lip-reading.

"Miles," Peregrine's voice brought the Telepath's focus back to the tactical display. "The riders are down, but that effect's still active somehow. Anything you can do to help?" Miles looked at the display, frowning. He was about to mention what he had seen the three commanders doing when a number of oddities suddenly came together in his mind. The sustained Aversion, the cats' Inertial Armour, the intelligence in their eyes...

"Not the riders! It's the cats causing it! They're psionic! Target the cats." He relayed the command over his Masslink as he spoke, hearing Peregrine echo it through the command pendants. Within moments the eight cats were lying dead on the field, and the Aversion affecting the British troops abruptly vanished. Miles swept his attention along the battle lines, telepathically rallying those soldiers who were slower to shake off the effects of the cats' powers, before movement near the Stone attracted his attention.

The remaining three cats were leading the surviving archers back to the Portal Stone. Their riders were stood in a triangle pointing toward a large concentration of fighting. Telling Mac to Look closer, he saw that only the centre man was still chanting. As he raised his glaive above his head, Miles realised the danger. He sent a brief call across his Masslink to the troops in the cluster before the enemy commander. A single word. Evade.

The disciplined troops reacted quickly as the glaive was brought down, cutting into the earth and opening large fissures that rapidly extended toward the battle lines. Most of the British troops escaped the cracks, but the enemy weren't so lucky. Moments after they appeared, the cracks closed and vanished, entombing the unfortunate fighters who had fallen into them. The enemy commander turned to face another clump of fighters, the two axe men moving to flank him.

"Middle one's mine," Miles snarled as Peregrine called on the Conclave for support. Flashing a warning to the troops now ahead of his target, he dropped his Masslink and focused all that energy into a telepathic attack. Expecting a struggle, Miles was surprised when he slipped easily into the man's mind as Conclave Kineticists stunned the other two.

Though unprotected, the enemy was focused, his mindscape being an almost exact copy of the real battlefield. The only difference was the black aura surrounding the chanting figure, which quickly extended out before him forming shadows of cracks on the ground. Miles positioned himself to one side, his Ego Whip manifesting here as lash of silver fire that coiled round his foe's arm, spinning him round to face the Telepath.

"And here I was wondering if there was anyone with the courage to face me." The enemy commander's voice had an odd echoing quality, as though somebody else were repeating his words a fraction later than him. "Tell me your name, Champion, that I may Sing it to the Land when you fall."

"Miles Draken, Lord of Glastonbury, Earl of Cymria," The Telepath replied, activating a Thought Shield that manifested as silver plate armour emblazoned with his family crest. "And yours?"

"When you meet your Creator, tell Him Daisharis Gaidal sent you." As he spoke, he lashed out with his glaive. Miles shifted backwards, literally swift as thought, as the long blade cut through where he had been standing.

"Not today friend."

"You're fast, Lord of Glastonbury, but the very earth bows to me." Daisharis Gaidal stepped back and after a moment of humming, struck the ground with the butt of his weapon, frowning when nothing happened.

"I don't think you realise just where you are," Miles said, gesturing at the man's feet. "This is no longer the field of Wessex, and in here, I command." As he spoke, tendrils of smoke rose from the ground around Daisharis Gaidal, coiling around him. The enemy's attempt to cut them with his glaive only resulted in the weapon's blade becoming entangled in the rapidly solidifying smoke. Miles kept his attention on the man until he was entombed within a pillar of grey stone, then pulled out back to the command flyer, maintaining a light Contact with the enemy commander. From the tactical display, it seemed that the battle was all but won.

On the field far below, Daisharis Gaidal collapsed to the ground, vacant eyes staring blankly up at the sky, caged within his own mind by the power of a Grandmaster Telepath.


	18. Son of Battle

Are you telling me that we were the only ones who thought to capture an officer?" Peregrine asked incredulously.

"Apparently so," Rogan replied, "although I still haven't heard from some of the Americans yet."

"The Yankees?"

"Actually no. Ambassador Schwarzenegger told me this morning that they routed both their incursions without losses, although he stated more than once that that was what his brother had told him."

"Implying that somebody other than the Emperor told him something different," the general muttered thoughtfully.

"That's the Yankees for you," Rogan said. "They don't like to be seen as anything less than perfect, and even a single casualty would shatter that illusion. No, it's the Aztecs I'm waiting to hear from, but you know their views on prisoners."

"The only good prisoner is a dead one," recited Peregrine. "Did I see the Frank ambassador leaving before I entered?"

"You did indeed," the king replied. "She came to demand that we turn over our captive officer to them because 'they have far more prisoners than we do, so one more won't make a difference'."

"Only one? We have several hundred they can have if they really want."

"They're only interested in the one that Miles subdued. Daisharis Gaidal."

"What about the two who were with him?"

"Just Gaidal," Rogan replied. "I think they're more interested in his earthquake trick more than any military information, to be honest."

"I hope you told Claudia no."

"That's all I could tell her, sadly. I was prevented from speaking my true thoughts by an annoying little thing called diplomacy."

"I'm glad I don't have to worry about being diplomatic," Peregrine said with a smile.

"Neither does Taryn. He said, and I quote, 'if you sausage-lovers had wanted an officer to interrogate, you shouldn't have opened the battle by blasting the command group with as much energy as your Kineticists could muster'."

"I can't imagine she liked that, but who's going to argue with the Magister Eternal?"

"I've known a few people who will," Rogan commented. "Family and friends, mostly. And Miles."

"Where is Taryn, anyway? I thought he was with you."

"One of his people brought him some books that he said might be relevant to the Storm. He's taken them to his suite. Did you want him for something?"

"Miles and I were planning to interrogate Gaidal. We were hoping you or Taryn might ensure we get the truth out of him."

"Of course," replied Rogan. "I've been expecting it, actually. I've managed to re-arrange most of today's appointments. I'm free for the rest of the day." He stood and formed a Dimensional Door to the corridor outside the interrogation rooms. Stepping through, he almost bumped into Taryn, who stepped aside just in time.

"Miles called me," he explained, opening the door to the darkened observation room. Stepping inside, the three men were surprised to see that Miles wasn't alone. A tall woman in blue was staring intently at the prisoner through the large window that from the brightly-lit room beyond, would appear to be just a mirror. Miles turned to greet the arrivals with a nod.

"I took the liberty of inviting Lady Talbot to view the prisoner," he stated. "Her Aura Visions may reveal something useful." Rogan nodded and turned to the woman at the window.

"What do you see? Anything interesting?"

"Black chains binding his soul, for a start," she replied. "He's not in full control of his actions. I don't think he has been for a very long time, and he's not the only one. There are others Linked to him. Hundred, maybe thousands. Every one bound in chains, and all are trapped in a cage of black lightning surrounded by dark storm clouds. He's worried what his failure at Wessex might mean for them. Compared to that, we might as well be just the threat of rain on a sunny day."

"Controlled by the Storm, obviously," Miles commented, "although I couldn't sense any other Mindlinks when I subdued him. Not that I was really looking."

"Maybe Taryn will be able to find something?" Rogan turned slightly to the Psion, who stepped up beside Lady Talbot to examine the prisoner. "Please continue, my Lady."

"There's power there, too. The strength to move mountains, held in check by restraints older than the black chains. Older than he is by far. Hmm, that's odd." She paused, squinting slightly "A golden three-lobed leaf falling from a branch onto a sword, shattering the blade. If he had the choice, this man would rather die than cause harm to another, even by accident."

"You got that from a leaf and a broken sword?" Peregrine asked, amazed. Lady Talbot turned to face him.

"Don't ask me to explain how I know what my Visions mean, General Mortimer. I just do, even though the same image for two separate people can mean completely different things, and frequently does. Likewise, different images for different people can mean exactly the same thing in the long run."

"Anything in his future?" Miles asked. She turned back to the figure beyond the glass.

"A Portal Stone; a man in red and black who he greatly respects; broken chains. There's some kind of creature … Miles, it's your brother's Dragon, coiled around his wrist. His descendants will serve yours, and they in turn will protect his and safeguard their way of leaf." She blinked and shook her head briefly to clear it. "I mean life. Their way of life. Sorry. The leaf and sword image flashed up there again for a second."

"Not like you to confuse Visions like that," Miles commented.

"I don't think I did," she replied hesitantly. "It must be in his future as much as his past."

"Anything else?" Rogan asked.

"Just two more images. First of all, he's going to die in bed of old age, surrounded by a dozen grandchildren. The other image is … odd."

"How so?"

"Well there's a gravestone, his without doubt, bearing a three word epitaph: 'Caballein misain ye,' although I couldn't tell you what that means. Beyond that there's a golden horn with writing around the rim, but it's too faint for me to read. The odd thing is that the horn is behind the gravestone. Not the other way round."

"It makes a difference?" Peregrine asked. Lady Talbot nodded.

"A big difference. It means that his death will come before the horn. It's his, but not in his lifetime. I know that doesn't make much sense, but there's no other way to interpret the vision."

"I'm sure there's a logical explanation for it, Minerva," Miles said. "Thank you for coming. You've been a big help."

"Any time, Miles," she responded. "Are you and Clara still coming over tomorrow for lunch?"

"Clara certainly will. She's been looking forward to it, and I know Alice wants to see her cousins. I might be detained, however, but I'll try to be there."

As the door closed behind Minerva Talbot, Taryn turned to the others.

"I found the links she mentioned. I'm not surprised you missed them, Miles. One is Metapsionic. The others are more akin to the bond between twins."

"Can you break them?" Rogan asked.

"The Metapsionic Link, certainly. As for the others, I don't think I should even try. If they're connections to his people, who are all controlled as he is, we might be able to gain their trust by freeing them from the Storm's Domination, but not if we start breaking them apart before we talk to them."

"So you think the Metapsionic Link is the Storm's control?"

"I'm certain," Taryn stated. "It has a very familiar feel to it." Rogan nodded, ignoring the puzzled looks from the other two men, who hadn't been present when Taryn had disclosed what he had learned from the Ogier. Both king and Magister had agreed that the Storm's identity should remain secret as long a possible.

"Can the Storm establish a Clairsentient contact through that Link?" Miles asked.

"Probably," Taryn replied, "although I don't think he has yet. Other than the Link itself, the only psionic activity in that room is your Mindtrap, Miles."

"Sever the Link," Rogan ordered. "I don't want the Storm learning any more about us than is necessary. Then you and I are going in to talk to Gaidal, Miles." Peregrine opened his mouth, but Rogan held up a hand to forestall him. "I'm going in because I want Taryn here in case anything happens, and Miles can protect me better than you can. He's already subdued the prisoner once, after all." The general nodded reluctantly as he turned back to the window.

"It's done," Taryn said, after a few minutes concentration. "You can bring him back any time, Miles."

Without a word, the Telepath walked round to the prisoner's room and began to unravel his Mindtrap. Rogan hurried round to join him as the captive's eyes cleared and focused on the two men.

"Daisharis Gaidal," Miles began. The bound man interrupted with a hollow laugh.

"I have no right to that title," he said bitterly. His voice had none of the echoing quality that Miles had heard in his mind. "There is little glory in defeat."

"There's no shame in losing to a superior foe," Miles replied calmly. "You couldn't have anticipated me, could you?"

"I couldn't," Gaidal shook his head, "but the Emperor will likely see matters differently."

"I'm sure he would, but he's not here, is he?"

"The Emperor sees all. The Emperor knows all," recited Gaidal. "He is always with me."

"Not any more," Rogan stated. "Our Magister broke the Link before you woke."

"That's impossible!" Gaidal's disbelief was obvious. "Nobody's that powerful."

"Not in your world perhaps," replied the king, "but this isn't your world. It's ours, and there are many here with great power."

Gaidal lowered his gaze, focusing inward. At a telepathic suggestion from Taryn, Rogan stepped closer.

"What does 'caballein misain ye' mean?" he asked. Gaidal's head snapped up to look at him.

"Where did you hear that phrase?" he demanded. Rogan was silent for a few moments, wondering how much to reveal.

"One of my people saw it written down in a vision," he finally replied. "One that relates to you. Her visions never lie. So what does it mean?"

"It means 'I am a free man'," Gaidal murmured, lowering his head again, "and it seems you're right about the Emperor's link being broken." Straightening his shoulders, he looked back up to the two men before him. "But I cannot be free as long as my people remain bound. We are One."

"Then let us help you free them," Miles said quietly. "Your Emperor is our enemy as well."

"I need time to think about this. To commune with the …" he broke off abruptly, and closed his eyes. Miles looked questioningly at Rogan, who turned to face the mirror concealing the observers. After a brief mental conversation with Taryn, he turned back to Miles.

"Let him consider, Miles." He glanced down at the prisoner. "We'll be back later, but know that you are under surveillance, Daisharis Gaidal." With that he turned to leave, Miles following close behind. As the door began to close, the sitting man stirred.

"Matteus," he said quietly without opening his eyes. "My birth name was Matteus."


	19. Guy's Journal: 14 Gaheris 492AF

_Keira insisted on coming with us as we left the Ogier Homesteading. She said it was her duty as Speaker to meet with the human leadership in order to co-ordinate our war efforts, but I think she was more concerned with escaping the sorrowful stares of her people whenever they glanced down at the brooch she wore. With the exception of Elder Damon, every adult Ogier, and many of the older children, regarded the scroll-shaped adornment with a look of pity whenever they had cause to address her. It was easy to see that these reactions upset Kiera. If it had been the same with Anla, I can understand the origin of her sharp, bullying attitude. Perhaps now that she's no longer Speaker, she'll mellow somewhat._

_It took the better part of the morning to ride to the nearest Conclave Manor. Stacy and Eric had decided it would be better to Gate to Avalon, for the sake of speed as much as avoiding too much attention. Even taking the back roads, we were unable to completely escape notice from the locals, although none came closer than they needed to recognise Eric in the Draken colours he chose to wear that day. Despite being obviously curious at the Ogier, the presence of their lord's son leading her escort meant it was none of their concern._

_The psionicists at the Manor were less restrained. Most of the younger apprentices and journeymen – and a few of the masters – seemed to find reasons to cross the entrance hall where Kiera, Brigid and I waited while Eric and Stacy saw the Master of the Manor. (Actually a Grandmistress, but the title was traditional.) As the two Channellers explained our needs, I used the Network to get in touch with my father to let him know we were on our way. He hadn't forgotten to mention the results of the Stump, as I had feared, but only a few individuals at court were aware of the Ogier as yet, due to an assault by the Storm. The scale of the attack astonished me, along with the results. I find it hard to conceive of the loss of Chin, but I suspect that worse is yet to come, judging from Eric's prediction._

_Although the Master invited us to stay for lunch, Stacy declined the offer, citing the need to see her father as soon as possible. Arriving in the capital, we were required to wait for several minutes before King Rogan could see us, accompanied by Lord Draken. A brief enquiry from Stacy revealed that my father and General Mortimer were interrogating as prisoner captured during the Battle of Wessex, although the way Miles described it, Matteus was less a captive and more in protective custody._

_Kiera requested to see the prisoner, and after a brief telepathic consultation with my father, we were all led down to the observation room, where Taryn watched Peregrine and Matteus. After greeting us, he explained that he didn't want to frighten the prisoner with his appearance the same way he had unnerved the Ogier. At least not yet. Kiera nodded and stepped closer to the glass to inspect the man, who suddenly stopped speaking to Mortimer, turned to look directly at where Kiera stood, and spoke a single sentence in some language I had never heard before. Kiera stepped back, obviously stunned._

_"He's Valerean," she said with astonishment, "and he knows I'm here."_

_"I don't see how," Miles replied. "That room's specially Empowered. He shouldn't be able to sense anything outside it."_

_"Something to do with the Shadowfire. He called me the Keeper of the Aegis. That was my title before I became Speaker."_

_"The Aegis?" Miles asked._

_"I'll explain later, Miles," replied my father, turning to Kiera. "I suppose you may as well go and introduce yourself, since he already knows about you. And he doesn't seem to be talking to Peregrine any more."_

_Kiera wasted no time walking round to the room. The prisoner followed her progress, despite being unable to see her. As she entered, he stood and bowed formally, arms crossed before him. He started speaking in the same fluid language he had used previously, although I noticed he hesitated at first, seeming to change what he had been about to say. Kiera replied in kind, and the two spoke for several minutes before she turned to the window through which we watched._

_"He wants to meet the man who freed him from the Storm's influence. Only then will he lead us to the Valere - the one who guides his people."_

_I glanced across to my father, but he had started moving before Kiera had finished speaking. I hurried after him, Brigid following closely behind me, as always. Matteus' expression when he saw my father was a mixture of awe and fear, the latter appearing to predominate. Understandable, given the circumstances, but either Kiera had obviously prepared him for the sight, or he knew something about the mirrored nature of the Portal Stone worlds, and had surmised that only the Storm's duplicate could have been the one to free him. He bowed as he had to Kiera, offering my father the chair he had been sitting on, but Taryn shook his head with a wry smile._

_"I need no such courtesies, my friend. I'm not like my counterpart from your world."_

_"That much was obvious when the Ogier entered," Matteus replied. "The Emperor would not have sent one of their ilk to talk to a prisoner." He stood motionless for several moments, staring intently into my father's eyes, before bowing once again. "Another difference. He would not let anyone look directly at him like that."_

_"Emperors seldom do," Taryn replied. "Kiera mentioned something about your leader, I believe."_

_"Guide," Matteus corrected, "not leader. The Children of Valere have no need for leadership. We each know our place in the Union. But the Valere is the wisest of us, chosen to represent us to those outside the mountain fastness of Caldazar, much as Speaker Kiera does for the Ogier."_

_"This Union. It's some sort of hive mind, yes?"_

_"I shouldn't have mentioned that," Matteus muttered uncomfortably._

_"I've been getting that a lot lately," my father directed a wry smile to Kiera. When Matteus glanced across at her quizzically, she responded quietly with a single word that sounded like '_chaveeren_,' at which the prisoner laughed and shook his head ruefully._

_"I didn't stand a chance, did I?" Catching sight of my father's raised eyebrow, he launched into a complex explanation of patterns and threads that I was barely able to follow. No doubt my father will record it in more detail later for those who can't understand abstract philosophy. What it boiled down to, as far as I could tell, was that my father's presence influences the actions of other people in his vicinity, whether he attempted to do so or not. The particular vicinity depended a lot on how strong the 'tangleweaver' was. Most affected people within a few yards or who could see them, but the strongest could alter things for miles around them. Given his history, my father was likely one of the latter. Kiera finished off the explanation by mentioning that some people have an innate ability to see or sense these 'tangleweavers,' but that the ability to do so was rarer than the Talent they were able to detect._

_They could no doubt have spent the rest of the day discussing this concept, had General Mortimer not impatiently returned the topic to Matteus' people. While the Valerean was reluctant to talk about the mysterious links he had with them, he was only too willing to describe their captivity to their emperor, the details of which I have no need to record here. After some minutes listening with growing distaste, the general interrupted with a question._

_"If we can free your people from the Storm's control, would you - would they be willing to help us fight him?"_

_"For myself, I will help you if you promise to make the attempt," Matteus replied, "but for the others… The Valere speaks for all. He must decide if they are to break the Covenant forged by Iasu all those years ago."_

_"Then perhaps we should go and ask him," remarked my father. Matteus nodded._

_"I will lead you to him, but it will be a long and dangerous journey to Caldazar."_

_"Not necessarily," my father had that sly look that usually indicated that he knew something nobody else did. "If you can point out where this Caldazar of yours is located in your world, I'm sure I can cut out most of the travelling."_

_"Assuming this world is similar to mine geographically, I can indicate the rough area on a map, but the exact location is protected from intrusion. Which reminds me, I'm going to need my _ashandarei_ to pierce the Shield. That black rod I had when you captured me."_

_"Not exactly a rod any more," stated Mortimer. "It's in the armoury. I'll bring it along with the supplies. I assume you'll want to leave soon." It wasn't a question, but my father nodded anyway as the general left to room._

_"_Ashandarei_ means 'sword spear' doesn't it?" Kiera asked. "Not something I would have expected from your people."_

_"That's the modern translation," Matteus replied, "and probably what determined the way I employed the combat mode, but the word actually derives from an ancient dialect. 'Ashe-anda-reia,' meaning 'Key Between Worlds.' It's how I was able to transport the army through that Stone of yours. Without the _ashandarei_, I would be hard-pressed to shift more then myself. My power is just too different."_

_When my father decides to do something, he doesn't waste time. With General Mortimer's aid, he arranged survival kits for all those he determined should join him and Matteus. Only a small group, of course, since he wanted to remain unnoticed as much as possible. That he included Brigid and myself without hesitation didn't surprise me. I'd heard Eric's Foretelling just as he had, and had long become accustomed the possibility that we were the Swordsman and Archer it referred to. Eric and Stacy were a surprise, as the Channellers had yet to train any powers that could be considered combat-oriented. Yes, they could summon balls of fire or shields of Air, but not with any real degree of control or accuracy. That had been the point of travelling to Eric's hunting lodge in what was now the Ogier Homesteading._

_Kiera insisted on coming with us, citing the need to learn what had happened to her people since they had Translated to this world, and arguing that her axe could cut down people as easily as it could cut deadwood. My father didn't argue with her, but Matteus remarked that she would likely have problems in a fight. The heavy blade, while suitable for swinging at stationary targets, would tend to unbalance her in a protracted fight against human or other foes, and the relatively short handle would not allow her to grip the weapon efficiently. Rather than arguing the point with him, Kiera simply replied "I'll just have to put a long handle on it, then," before leaving (with an escort) to find somebody who could help her do just that._


	20. Road to the Red Eagle

Matteus watched the Magister standing beside the Portal Stone in Wessex, through which he had so recently led his army, his eyes closed, with one hand resting on an open space a third of the way up. He couldn't feel the power the Psion was using, but he didn't really expect to. Psionics was just too different to Earthsong. He glanced curiously around at his companions.

The Ogier Speaker maintained a grim expression as she leaned on the axe that now had a dark haft almost as tall as she was, which had been a quarterstaff before the armourer had psionically Shaped it into its present form. Beyond her, the two who had followed the Magister into the cell. Both wore plain, hard-wearing clothing and good boots, obviously intended for long hikes. Neither bore a weapon of any kind, but from their stance, they didn't appear to feel the lack. They spoke quietly together, but Mat refrained from trying to eavesdrop, turning his attention to the other two. Their clothes, though still designed for travel, were more elaborate than their friends'. The man wore a long, curved sword marked on the hilt by a winged beast of some kind. By his bearing, he knew well how to wield it, but even so, the woman by his side seemed the more deadly of the two, despite her only visible weapon being a short dagger. Both seemed unsettled by the prospect of journeying to another world. More so than their companions.

Four weapons between seven people, and not a single one ranged, unless he could get the _ashandarei _working properly once they arrived on the other side of the Stone. For some reason it was stuck in close-combat mode, the ghostly sword blade flickering in and out despite Mat's efforts to revert it to its standby mode. It should have switched back automatically when he let go of it, but it hadn't. Neither Lord Draken nor the Magister had been able to explain why. With luck, whatever the Magister was doing would enable them to evade the patrols, since the _ashandarei _wouldn't help much locked into its current form.

Suddenly, the Magister opened his eyes and addressed the group.

"Done. Time to go, everybody." The world faded into blackness for a few heartbeats, before being replaced by a completely different landscape. Instead of the muddy field of Wessex, they now stood in a wide canyon of red rock. The sun beat down from high above, where it had previously been lower in the sky, and partially obscured by clouds. Mat was too surprised by the smoothness of the transit to realise the implications immediately, although it didn't take long for him to do so.

"This isn't England," he stated.

"No," the Magister replied, with a smile. "It's near your Caldazar. I was able to cut our travel time considerably by generating a Portal Stone close by and transiting us directly to it."

"You … created a new Stone?" Mat asked, incredulously. "The Emperor had to drain the energies of twenty Valereans to make his. You truly **_are_ **powerful."

"Actually, creating a new Stone was nothing," the Magister replied absently, looking around. "It's what they were supposed to do on their own anyway. I just re-activated a disabled program and entered specific co-ordinates based on your information. Anyone with any telepathic Talent could have done it, if they knew the system, and the pass-codes to unlock it."

"I thought the Stones were Linked to the same one in alternate worlds," the one called Eric began. "I didn't realise you could transit between Stones in another world at the same time."

"It's a simple matter of combining the relevant symbols," replied the Magister. "The hard part is knowing which symbols to combine, but since I just created this Stone, I got to choose the address symbol for it." He picked up the pack lying on the floor beside him. "However, generating a new Portal Stone tends to expend a large amount of psionic energy, which can easily be detected if anyone is monitoring, so we had best leave this area as quickly as possible. If you would lead the way, Matteus?"

Getting his bearings was the simple matter of a short song. The Earthpower was strong here, and familiar, and the sense of the Union called him home. He gestured to the east, and started walking toward the Red Eagle Mount. The Magister had done well with his placement of the Stone. There would be few patrols this side of Caldazar, although if he was right, the hunters would likely be on their way already. As he walked, Mat tried to restore power to the _ashandarei_, without success. That worried him. Hunting packs would almost certainly consist of _grolmin_, and there was no time now to fetch bows.

The group didn't make as much progress as Mat would have wanted. Guy, Brigid and the Speaker seemed at home in the wilderness, although not so much as the Magister, surprisingly. The other two, however, were less able to cope, giving the impression that they were more used to city life. The afternoon passed quickly without incident until the sun touched the horizon. So far they had been lucky, but Mat sensed that wouldn't last. However, knowing it would be folly to try to climb to the entrance at night, he called a halt, leading the group into a small cave to rest until dawn.

"We should set a watch back down the canyon," he stated. "It wouldn't be good to get caught in this cave, even though it does have a back exit."

"We should ward that as well, then," Eric said, turning to Anastacia. "I'll take the way we came." He headed back out of the cave as she turned to head deeper. Mat turned to the Magister.

"They can create alarm wards," he answered Mat's unspoken question. "If anything passes their boundaries, they'll know. It's why I asked them along."

"You can't do such things yourself?"

"Oh, yes. It's just that my wards are psionic, so they're more likely to be detected, which defeats the purpose of only having a small group."

"And their wards won't be?" Mat asked.

"I'm hoping not," the Magister replied. "Their power isn't psionic. I'll explain later, when we're more secure. Guy, you have the first watch. Wake me in four hours."

With that, the Magister sat down on the floor and closed his eyes. Guy took up position at the cave entrance, while Brigid curled up under a blanket on a pile of sand in a corner. Somewhat reluctantly, Mat laid down his _ashandarei _and unpacked his bedroll and blanket. If the Magister was as confident as he sounded, there probably wasn't too much danger. Nevertheless, he sent a call to the Union to guard the party as best they could.

Dawn came slowly, although Mat managed to get enough sleep to refresh him for the climb ahead. After a cold breakfast, the party left the cave and started along the canyon toward the narrow trail that led up to the entrance to Caldazar. Just as they reached it, Mat heard the sound he'd been dreading. A coughing bark from behind them, repeated many times. Instinctively, he sang the key to transform his _ashandarei_, which refused to change.

"Those are bad, I take it?" the Magister asked. Mat nodded.

"_Grolmin_. A large pack from the sound of it, and on our trail."

"Can we lose them?"

"I might have been able to do something to conceal us if my _ashandarei _were working properly, but as it is, I can't even fight them effectively. Their hide is too thick for all but the sharpest blades. Their only weakness is their eyes. An arrow in one of them will kill a _grolm _instantly. I should have anticipated them, and had us bring bows."

"Bows?" Guy echoed with a smile. "We've got better. We have Brigid." Mat looked at the young woman in question, puzzled. She was climbing onto a ledge up the canyon wall.

"They're following us, right? So they'll come along the path we did?" Mat nodded. "Good." She knelt down on the ledge looking back, one arm outstretched pointing back the way they had come. "So how big is a 'large' pack, anyway? Never mind, I can see them."

She wasn't the only one. The _grolmin _pack rounded a corner some hundred paces away. At least four dozen bear-like creatures with leathery grey-green skin, and sharp, horny-lipped beaks halted momentarily, before bounding toward the party. Mat stepped forward and set his _ashandarei _to receive the beasts' charge, although he knew such a defence would be pointless against so many. A flash of silver shot past him, felling the lead _grolm_, causing him to look back at the woman up on the ledge.

As Mat watched, a glowing silver arrow flashed into existence beside Brigid's outstretched arm and shot away as though loosed from a bow, to be replaced almost immediately by another, then another. Mat traced the path of an arrow into the distant pack of _grolmin_. A steady stream of silver bolts traversed the distance between the two groups, and it seemed to Mat that every bolt downed a _grolm_. Astonished, he looked back to the grinning young woman on the ledge. The bolts were created and loosed almost faster than the eye could register. Suddenly they stopped, and Brigid lowered her arm. A glance down the canyon showed the entire pack had been killed, the nearest still over eighty paces away!

"That was fun," Brigid said, dropping down next to Mat. She wasn't even out of breath! Even using the _ashandarei's_ ranged attack mode, Mat would have had trouble stopping fifty _grolmin_, and she had killed them all in less than a minute!

"Any chance there'll be another pack?" asked the Magister, breaking Mat's amazement.

"No. Not until this one fails to report in, by which time, we should be safe in Caldazar."

"Then let's get going. But first…," the Magister turned to Eric. "We should leave as little trace of our passage as possible. Burn the bodies. Stacy, keep the smoke contained, then sweep over the ashes."

Both nodded and stepped toward the massacre. Stacy raised both hands and a blue dome shimmered into existence over the bodies, then Eric held up a fist and the dome was filled with blue-white fire. After a minute, he dropped his hand and made a sweeping motion outward and the flames vanished, leaving a layer of ashes in the floor of the dome. Stacy waved her hands as the blue dome winked out, and sand swirled over, concealing all that remained of fifty _grolmin_. The Magister smiled, and gestured toward the trail they had been heading for.

Dumbfounded by the display of power, Mat led the group away up to the entrance to Caldazar. While there was still room, he dropped back next to the Magister.

"Are all your people that powerful?" he asked.

"No," the Magister replied. "Most of them are stronger. Eric ands Stacy are special cases, but Brigid's just a Wild Talent, like Guy."

"Hell of a Wild Talent," Eric commented from behind them. "I've never seen so many Energy Missiles at once. And she's not even winded! Not even my cousin can manage that, and he's a Master Kineticist."

"That's because they weren't Energy Missiles," the Magister replied, with a smile. "They're Mind Arrows. The same power as Guy's blades. Brigid's a Soulknife, just like he is. Well," he corrected himself, "she could be, if she focused her power differently. Just as Guy could become a Soulbow like her, if he chose. Throwing his blades was the first step to that, but he hasn't taken the second for some reason."

"Do they know their powers are basically the same?" Eric asked.

"I think Guy does," the Magister replied, "but I don't know if Brigid knows. Or even cares. I think all that matters to them is that they complement each other just as perfectly as you and Stacy do."

Although he wouldn't discuss Eric and Stacy's power, the Magister was happy to explain about the other two. How their psionic talents allowed them to create weapons of pure thought energy, each suited to their own personalities. Where Brigid had silver arrows, Guy wielded two gleaming golden blades, each about two paces long. Once he finished his explanation, he asked a question of his own.

"Tell me about the _grolmin_. Are they native to this region?"

"No more so than the other Warshaped," Mat replied. "The _tormsa_, the _corlmin_, the _lopara_, the _rakeni_. All were born in the Emperor's labs, each bred for a specific purpose. The Valere can tell you more about their origins. All I know is how they fight, and how they die. Although the latter is almost always, 'with difficulty'."

"Please, tell me what you know."

"Well, the _grolmin_ are watch-beasts," began Mat. "They're highly territorial pack hunters…." The Magister listened with interest to Mat's descriptions, asking a question now and then to clarify a point. Before long, the rocky trail they were following ended at a solid wall.

"This is it," Mat said. "The entrance to Caldazar. It's a good thing the Key works in all modes, otherwise we'd be stuck now." Before anyone could ask what he meant, Mat pulled back a shrub to reveal a small circular hole in the rock. He deftly swung his _ashandarei _round and slotted it into the hole, the misty blade passing through the rock as though it weren't there, then rotated the shaft clockwise. A glowing silver archway appeared on the rock face beside the keyhole, and Mat gestured for his companions to precede him. "I have to be the last in. The archway doesn't last long once the _ashandarei is _removed."

The Magister entered first, followed by Guy, his glowing mind blades forming a cross before him. When they were all in, Mat pulled out the _ashandarei _and quickly stepped through the closing archway into the entry hall of the mountain fortress of Caldazar.


	21. New Talents

Minerva Talbot sat motionless on the bench, staring blankly at nothing as she contemplated the Vision she had recently seen. The palace cat, who had found her just outside the observation room and tagged along in the hope of the usual attention, had long since become bored with her unresponsiveness, and wandered off to find some other distraction. Min had registered Boots as she had the people she had passed on her way to the Portal Room - enough to avoid walking into them, but not to recognise anyone, even as she greeted them absently.

"Penny for your thoughts," Ellen's cheerful voice broke through Min's reverie. She looked up, and suddenly wished she hadn't. Her friend's smiling face was overlaid with a tearful screaming mask. Behind her, a ghostly candle sparked alight, then burst into a raging inferno that burnt away in the blink of an eye, leaving the candle taller and thicker than before, albeit without a wick.

"Sorry, just something Grandfather often says…" Ellen continued, breaking off as Min abruptly closed her eyes and turned away. "Did you just…? I thought you didn't View friends…"

""I don't normally," Min replied, forcing her Sight back to normal, and turning to face Ellen. "I just… Miles asked me to Look at his prisoner, and the last image was so strange that I guess I forgot to drop the power."

"Yes, I heard about that one. So what did you see? Just now, I mean."

"I shouldn't say…," began Min.

"The future then," Ellen concluded, "and not a good one from your reaction." She sat down beside her friend. "Tell me about it."

"You won't be able to change it."

"I know, but as least I'll be prepared. So, what's in my future?"

"Pain and loss," Min stated sadly. "You're going to be hurt. People you know will die. You're going to lose something you never knew you had, but you'll survive, and be stronger for it."

"That last part is comforting, at least. Anything else?"

"Yes, but I didn't let myself See it. I _really_ don't like Viewing friends. With good reason."

"I know. Any indication of when?" Min shook her head. "Then there's not much point dwelling on it. Especially if I'm going to survive."

"What if one of those people who are going to die is me? I mean I usually know if I'm involved in a Vision, but..."

"It could just as easily be somebody else," Ellen interrupted. "I know more people than just you, Min. Hell, I know most of the ruling courts around the whole world. And there _is_ a war on, you know? So of course people I know are going to die. That's what happens in war." She embraced her friend warmly and then stood. "Anyway, I need to get back to the school. Adam has something new he wants to try out, and I'd rather be there when he does, in case it goes wrong."

"Can I come?" asked Min. "Persephone says she wants to be a Channeller when she grows up, and it would be nice if I could actually tell her something constructive about your school next time she asks."

"Of course you can come," Ellen said, opening to door to the Portal Room. "Didn't she want to be a Psion last month?"

"No, that was Perseus. He wants to be a sky pilot now, though. Next month, it'll be a dimensional explorer or something equally enthralling…." Min followed Ellen around the marked-off area along the edge of the room reserved for personal teleportation to a small stone archway in the corner. "So what does Adam want to try, then? Is it dangerous?"

"With Channelling, everything can be dangerous. Especially for men." Ellen replied, before explaining the process, and dangers, of Channelling. As she spoke, she absently traced an elaborate pattern on a square panel beside the stone archway, causing glowing marks to appear wherever her finger touched. After a brief glance to confirm the sigil's accuracy, she then pressed a raised section below the panel. The glowing symbol flared brighter as a swirling blue vortex filled the archway through which the two women then stepped.

"I notice the Seekers never mention all that when talking about Channelling," Min commented, when Ellen had finished.

"We don't want to scare anyone off." The Shaper replied, shutting off the Gateway. "Some people start to Channel whether they want to or not, and without proper training, the consequences can be equally lethal. As for what Adam's up to, I have no idea. He didn't tell me anything about it." She led her friend out into the mansion's entry hall and introduced her to the young man waiting for them.

"This will have to be quick, Adam," she stated. "I'm expecting a new group of potential students this morning."

"I know," he replied. "I kind of need them here to do what I plan to."

"Oh?"

"It's something Marcus noticed the last couple of times we showed off for the newbies," Adam began. Ellen's eyes narrowed as a vague suspicion crossed her mind, but she decided not to voice it as her student continued. "While we were demonstrating Channelling to the visitors, Marcus would feel some sort of … echo, coming from one or more of the boys watching us. Usually the ones that the Seekers sent here, but he also felt it from Simon."

"The boy who came just to keep his brother company?" Ellen's suspicion grew more certain. "The one who started to Channel last week?" Adam nodded.

"Right, the one the Seekers had decided wasn't old enough to have manifested a psionic Talent yet, so they didn't bother testing."

"As I recall, he didn't exhibit any reaction to Lucy's Channelling."

"He does now," Adam replied, "and stronger than his brother."

"So you want to test this new group to see if you feel the same echo that Marcus did?" Adam nodded again. "If it works, it might be a better method for locating potential Channellers than the one the Seekers currently use."

"That's the idea."

"I approve," Ellen smiled, as a knock on the main doors announced the arrival of their visitors. As Adam opened the door to greet them, the psionicist established a Mindlink with him, as she usually did when a student tried something new. She gave the usual speech of welcome and introduced them to Adam and Lucy, who appeared from a side door. After a brief explanation of Channelling, Adam created a few small balls of Fire and started juggling them, sending them round the heads of the awed onlookers as Lucy wandered through them almost idly, reassuring the younger ones with a few words or a hug.

Curious, Min shifted her Sight to View the group before her. It was hard to See specific futures, especially if you didn't know exactly what to look for, but she soon learned to recognise what she was seeking. Taking a pencil and notepad from a pocket, she wrote a few lines, before tearing off the sheet, folding it and handing it to Ellen, who was concentrating on the sensations she was feeling from her Mindlink. Suddenly she felt what Marcus must have sensed, coming from four of the five boys among the newcomers, the sole exception being the youngest. She sent a quick mental question to Adam, who simply nodded, and released his Power. Lucy emerged from the group with the three girls the Seekers had suggested could learn to Channel, as well as a younger one who looked somewhat uncertain.

"Michelle has the Talent too, Miss Ellen," she stated, indicating the youngest, "although not as strong as the others." That announcement caused an avalanche of questions from the children's parents, which Lucy and Adam answered calmly and concisely, as Ellen glanced at the paper Min had placed in her hand. Eight descriptions were written on it, matching the ones Lucy and Adam had sensed.

"Maybe you should join our Seekers, Min," Ellen murmured to her friend. "You picked out the same ones the kids did."

"Thank you, but no. I have other demands on my time. A hyperactive five-year old, for one..." She managed to conceal the sadness she felt at some of the Visions she had seen from the group. "Although I do have time today for a tour of the place. When you're done here."

"You can wait in my study," Ellen pointed to a door opposite the main entrance. "I shouldn't be long," she said, as she turned back to the new arrivals.

* * *

Hours later, Ellen sat alone in her study, noting down the second of the day's notable events. In the early evening, two of the boys had been sparring with blades of Air when one of them had slipped, cutting deep into the other's leg. Ellen had instantly sent a call to the school's Egoist as she ran forward to try and slow the bleeding, but young Dan had got there before either she or his brother did. Both psionicists watched stunned as Simon's leg Healed at Dan's touch. His brother Peter knelt by Simon and started to examine him as Ellen turned to Dan.

"Do you know what you just did?" she asked. "More importantly, can you do it again?"

"I, I think so…," he replied, uncertainly.

"Try." Ellen drew her belt knife and scored a long cut along her forearm, Mindlinking the student as she did so.

"Ellen!" Peter reached for her, stopping as she gestured to stay back.

"Try," she repeated to Dan, more calmly than she felt. "Exactly as you did before." The young Channeller leant forward and reached for the Power, Channelling it into the self-inflicted wound. Psionicist and students alike watched as the cut stopped bleeding and closed up without a scar.

"Water, Air and Spirit. I wonder if it's the same for women," Ellen murmured quietly, as Peter looked at her arm with the expression she had come to recognise as being part of a diagnosis power. "So, am I healthy?" She asked the Egoist.

"Right as rain," he replied. "And so is Simon. He's tired, but other than that, perfectly healthy. Hell, Dan even cured his cold with that power. Looks like you get to be a Healer after all, little brother." Dan had always wanted to be an Egoist, but his lack of psionic ability had killed that dream. From the look on his face, this new Talent had rekindled it.

Putting the journal away, she turned off the light and headed up to her bedroom. A faint sobbing stopped her, and she opened her mind to feel where it was coming from. One of the single rooms. The one where Angela had been staying, which answered the question of who it was. Ellen quietly made her way to the door.

"You should go back to your own room, Terri," she said softly, startling the girl. "It's not good for you to hide yourself away in here."

"I'm sorry, Miss Ellen," Terri replied between sobs. "It's just…"

"Shh, I know," Ellen sat beside her on the bed and put an arm around her. "I lost a sister too, when I was young. Younger than you."

"Were you the one who killed her?" Terri asked tearfully. "I'm the one who gave her the mirror. I swear I didn't know what she was going to do, but…" She trailed off, sadly.

"I'm sure you didn't. But even if you hadn't given her the mirror, I don't think she would have lived long anyway. Channelling was everything to her. Without it, she just gave up. Nothing my grandfather or I did seemed to help." The girl leant into Ellen and curled her legs up beneath her. As she did so, something dropped from her lap onto the floor. Ellen reached down to pick it up. The object was a small figurine of a woman, no larger than her hand. Turning it over, she saw the smiling face of Terri's sister Angela.

"That's pretty," she commented. "Did you make this?" Terri looked at it, and nodded.

"I wanted something to remember her from before. When she first left to come here."

Ellen turned it over again, examining the fine details, before tensing up.

"This was Shaped psionically!" she exclaimed. "You didn't Channel this."

"I must have done," Terri protested, confused. "I don't have psionic talent. You can't have both, right?"

"My dear, I'm a Grandmaster Shaper. I know the products of my own Discipline when I see them. But a permanent Shaping like this takes more energy than a Natural talent should have…" She looked down at the girl. "Where did you find this?" she asked, lifting the rose-shaped pendant she hadn't noticed before.

"It was by the bed," Terri said. "I thought it was Angie's." Ellen shook her head, lifting the pendant off over the girl's head.

"It's an heirloom of my family, called Ilona's Rose. It was created for an ancestor of mine to help focus her power in certain Disciplines. Ones in which she herself was weak. Shaping was one of them."

"Focus her power?"

"It multiplies the psionic energy channelled through it. It will work for any Discipline, but it's strongest with Shaping and Healing. I was trying to use it to help Angela. I forgot to put it away, obviously." A thought occurred to her. "If you can use psionics as well as Channelling, maybe others can too..."

"Is that important?"

"It means there may be far more Channellers out there than we realise, but that's my concern. _You_ need to learn about your Shaping. Now, I'm going to have to take Ilona's Rose back, but I'll see if I can get you something similar."

"You can make me one just like it?" Terri asked, wiping her eyes.

"Not me, but I know the man who made this," she held up the Rose. "I'm sure he'll make you one if I ask him. Assuming I can drag him away from his precious Project Jehuty."

"Project Jehuty?"

"One of Grandfather's top secret construction projects over in Neo Tokyo, that I'm not really cleared to know about. All I know is the name, and that the location is 'ironically appropriate,' whatever that means." Ellen sighed, shaking her head before continuing. "Most of his private jokes relate back to before the Fall, so I likely wouldn't appreciate it anyway." She looked down at the figurine in her hand. "You know, I think I'll get him to Empower this for you. I think Angela would have liked that, don't you?"

"She would have," Terri said, taking the figurine from the Shaper, before standing. "I should get to my own room. Thank you." She embraced the older woman and left, leaving Ellen alone, with a multitude of questions buzzing around in her head.


	22. Appendix: Psionics in Brief

_**At its most basic, the nature of Psionics is 'mind over matter'. Things happen because the user wills them to. The 'how' is harder to explain briefly, but I shall do my best.**_

_**There exists a type of energy within all thinking creatures, that can be best described as mental energy, although it is produced by the body more than the mind. It accumulates when we rest and is expended during the day as we are active, usually with little or no discernable effect. Occasionally under stress it heightens a person's abilities, usually unconsciously. Throughout the Age of Talent, most people developed conscious triggers for a few powers, which came to be termed Natural or Wild Talents.**_

_**The true psionicist is adept at tapping into that energy at will, shaping it according to his desires and projecting that desire onto the world. The shaping of mental energy takes place in the psionicist's mind, requiring excellent visualisation skills which can take many years to perfect. Such skills are available to everybody though, if they are willing to work at it, and have the time and the patience to persevere.**_

_**Although this theory is consistent, Psionics is an inherently personal ability. Each user has his own trigger or method of manifestation, shaped by their personality and background. (One of my subjects described Invisibility as 'telling the world I'm not here, and letting the world tell everybody else.') It is difficult to teach more than the basic principles to a student - possibly another reason why there were relatively few full psionicists until the latter half of the Age.**_

_**The Seven Disciplines**_

_**My extensive research into Psionics identified hundreds of powers, many of which were related. For ease of referencing, I grouped these powers into separate disciplines. As new Talents were discovered and studied, I was able to fit them into these disciplines with ease. When psionicists became more common, it became apparent that most were more adept with a single discipline than any other. They tended to associate with those who shared this primary discipline, and this rapidly led to the adoption of colour-coding as a kind of uniform, and for ease of recognition.**_

_**The seven disciplines, and their associated colours, are as follows:**_

_**Clairsentience: The ability to know and learn things that would not ordinarily be known. This includes Remote Viewing and Precognition, but also various alternative ways of sensing, such as the ability to 'feel' light on one's skin, enabling the blind to see. Those for whom it was the primary discipline were called Seers. The colour of Clairsentience was white, representing the blank page of a book.**_

_**Telepathy: Telepaths were masters of powers involving contact and manipulations of the mind. Mind reading and mental control were the most familiar powers within this Discipline, but it also included sensory links, such as seeing through another's eyes, as well as past-life awareness. Defences against telepathic attacks also belong in this discipline. Telepaths habitually wore grey, a neutral colour to represent the neutrality of thought.**_

_**Metacreativity: This discipline consists of powers that draw matter from the Unseen World, also known as the Dream Realm, allowing its practitioners to create solid or semisolid objects such as armour and weapons. Shapers could also conjure animated constructs of all kinds to help them perform tasks or to do battle. Since the first Shapers were required to use an existing material, most often earth, as a base for their constructs, the colour of Metacreativity was brown.**_

_**Psychokinesis: Psychokinetic powers manipulate and transform matter and energy. They can pick up and move objects without the user touching them, as well as manipulate them at a fundamental level. A skilled Kineticist could throw devastating bolts of energy, transmute one material into another or animate objects such as tables and chairs. This discipline's colour is derived from the simplest and most common form of psychokinetic energy - the red of open flames.**_

_**Psychometabolism: Masters of Psychometabolism were called Egoists. Their powers altered their physiology, or that of those near them. Shapechanging and healing were the primary hallmarks of this discipline, which contained little else. Following pre-Fall tradition, Egoists clothed themselves in the colour of growth and transformation, green.**_

_**Psychoportation: A psionicist who relied primarily on Psychoportation was a Nomad. Nomads could wield powers that propel or displace objects in space or time, making them highly valuable for those who wished items or people transported long distances. Their colour was blue, to represent the boundless sky or the trackless seas across which they travelled.**_

_**Metapsionics: The rarest and most demanding of all disciplines, Metapsionics was the art of manipulating or enhancing other psionic powers. It was an advanced discipline, and those few who mastered it were termed Psions. Psions could augment or hinder any power they or others in their vicinity manifested, repair mental or psychic damage and even split their minds in two or more parts, allowing them to do many things at once. Two notable powers within this disciplines were the ability to combine the energies of many psionicists into a single mind, and the creation of psionic artefacts. Drawing on the classical colour of wisdom and intellectual energy, Psions almost always wore yellow.**_


End file.
